Of Truths
by Kaivic
Summary: Slash,Inc,MPreg. Sirius' cousin returns after 28 years, but only to expand the Black name. SBOMC RLOMC
1. The Arrival

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Okay, I _do_ own _things_, just not anything from Harry Potter.

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**Of Truths **

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Chapter 1: The Arrival

When Kreacher had announced to her that her "dearest" sister Lucetta Black had fallen fatally ill she had not been the least bit surprised. Nor that Lucetta's last wish was to give her her only child. Luciana Black, wife of Osric Black and disappointed mother of Sirius and Regulus Blacks, had expected the death of her whore of a sister for quite some times, and expected even more a child at her door. After her younger sister's constant grieving of her lack of a child (and let's not forget marriage) she had finally given birth to a bastard child by a man she had not remembered other than the name. The name of either child or father --- Luciana couldn't care less.

All she knew was that it was a boy and the fact that he was nine. Luciana could not imagine what it would be like to live nine years penniless, the clothes on her back most likely not even to her name. She pitied the child for this. As Kreacher continued on about her sister's death and the importance of the boy's welfare, Luciana had prepared herself for the most horrid, wretched child that God had ever made.

But in the week following, the day of the boy's dreaded arrival, Luciana was greeted by the most brilliant, well-mannered, and possibly the most beautiful child she had ever laid eyes on (after her own children of course.) He perhaps was a tad shorter than the average male ten-year-old, but he held an air of elegance and aristocracy that definitely made up for it. His black hair was neat and combed and he had the Black trademark grey eyes. He greeted her as he would greet a queen, forcing her to give a tight smile. She wondered if this was truly her sister's child. He was mannerly and not the least bit scruffy like she had imagined.

Luciana would never forget the name Uldaricus Black, no matter how awful the name sounded.

Regulus had taken him in as a brother (although a bit reluctantly) after that day. But Sirius hadn't at all after choosing to dislike anyone his mother liked.

Sirius used to tease him constantly with James Potter and the others when he was able to sneak them into number twelve, Grimmauld Place when his mother's back was turned. Sirius tried everything in his power to try to ruffle Uldaricus' feathers, but it was to no prevail. He would simply ignore them and hide behind Regulus whom he would affectionately call his brother. This both disgusted and amused Sirius. But Uldaricus didn't have to deal with his cousin's torture long. A year after their meeting, after Sirius's seventh year at Hogwarts, he had promptly left the house without a single glance in his direction.

Uldaricus had never seen anyone so anguished as Luciana that evening. She would sob one moment and then throw something the other. It was then when she pleaded for him to carry on the Black name. The ten-year-old boy had agreed eagerly if it would stop her crying, but he hadn't understood what he agreed to. But seven years later, when he had decided to carry on with his adult life without number twelve, Grimmauld Place, she reminded him of his promise.

She had pleaded him mercilessly, and Uldaricus could not refuse her.

---

Darius Black, no longer burdened with the name Uldaricus, followed Mad-Eye Moody through the tall grass and weeds of what was Grimmauld Place's current yard. He noticed a great difference between the house that he had left twenty-one years ago and the one that swayed pathetically now in the evening wind. Perhaps it was because of the lack of a moon in the evening sky.

"We would have gotten here earlier if it wasn't for that stop you had to make," Moody grunted, his magical eye rolling back to his direction.

Darius laughed nervously, "I'm sorry, but it was unavoidable." When Moody grunted again, his eye rolled back forward, Darius's smile faltered. He fingered the lump in the inside pocket of his cloak carefully. He had returned to Grimmauld Place for one reason, and one reason only: to fulfill his aunt's last wish. The guilt of his laziness to execute it nagged at his mind since he had left home, until his recent introduction to a colleague's close relative Severus Snape sparked an idea.

**Flashback**

_Darius stood just outside the home of Severus Snape, his cloak covering him almost completely so he resembled nothing more than a shadow in the night. His blood pounded noisily in his ears as he knocked on the door a bit too hard from anticipation. Darius watched the outline of Severus' figure pass the window anxiously._

_The door opened, Severus looking quite vexed, but then it softened slightly when he saw whom it was. "Black!" Severus greeted as warmly as he ever could, a small smile crossing his face. "What a surprise!"_

_"I would like to speak to you, if that is alright."_

_Severus moved back from the door and gestured for him to enter. Inside, Darius was enthralled by the shelves of books lined against the walls, his jaw going slack ever so slightly. He had never seen so many books in one place before, not even in Grimmauld Place's library. "This is amazing," he murmured to Severus, awed, but the ex-Death Eater only gave a tight laugh. "It isn't really." With that he ushered him to a chair and offered him a drink which he politely declined._

_"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Severus asked, sitting down in a chair in front of Darius's. Unsure of where to begin, Darius started from when his mother fell ill. Severus listened to him intently, nodding from time to time or pouring himself more wine, until he had finished._

_"But I fail to see what a Pregnancy Potion would have to do with this," he said after the story was concluded, "There is always Bellatrix."_

_Darius snorted at the sound of his cousin's name. "I would prefer not, Severus," he said lightly, "Besides, I have already chosen my host."_

_This earned a raised eyebrow. "Oh? It is obviously Regulus you've chose, but he has been missing for quite some time, as you know. So who else could there possibly be that you would require a Pregnancy Potion?"_

_There was silence, and then, "Sirius."_

_Severus spluttered into his wine. "_HIM_? Of all the people you could have chosen-"_

_"Narcissa is married, Regulus is missing, Bellatrix is not an option at all, and the rest of the family are either ghastly looking or not Blacks. Need I say more? Besides, I believe it would be best if it was one of Luciana's own children." Severus continued to stare at him hysterically but then sighed as if he accepted his decision. "You have made up your mind, I guess?" he murmured, taking another sip of his wine. Darius nodded vigorously._

_"Very well then," he sighed again, "I will be able to finish the potion in a week or so. Is that good for you?" _

**End Flashback**

Darius could not get rid of Mad-Eye's stares after the stop at Severus's. But as he had said, it was absolutely unavoidable. As they neared the door, his blood began to pound in his ears as it always did when he was anxious or nervous. Living with Sirius was not something he had imagined ever doing voluntarily.

Moody tapped his wand against the flaking door which issued a series of tumblers to activate until finally a chain was heard and the door opened slightly. The sound was a kind of wake up call to the realization of what he was planning to do. Inside was almost completely purged in darkness except for a few candles that floated near the ceiling. With this dim light, Darius was able to make out every cobweb, crack, and spoil that marred the walls.

"Are you coming or not?"

The gruff voice broke Darius out of his reverie. He smiled and nodded.

---

Remus and Mrs. Weasley watched in distress as Sirius paced the kitchen, nearly pulling his hair out from the roots. "Look, Padfoot, everything is going to be fine," Remus tried to soothe him as Mrs. Weasley continued making their supper. Sirius simply snorted and increased his speed.

"No, it isn't," he muttered after pacing for some time, plopping down into a seat at the table, "He's coming for revenge."

Remus laughed at that. "Revenge? _Please_ Sirius. I bet he is more mature than to attempt to get revenge on something that happened as children!"

"Don't be too sure of that," Sirius muttered. He opened his mouth to say more, but then Kreacher plodded into the kitchen and announced the arrival of their guests in tone far more chipper than usual. Sure enough, the echoing thuds of Mad-Eye's leg sounded from behind the door. Sirius stood up so fast his chair skidded backwards and teetered on two legs before falling back to four. Remus followed suit (although at a slower pace) and stood. Even Mrs. Weasley stopped cooking supper, wiping her hands in a kitchen towel, to greet the new guest.

Moody walked in followed by a tall, ebony-haired man who smiled slightly at them. Sirius smiled weakly in return, as if it was hard to twitch the corners of his lips up. Remus was a bit taken aback since Darius looked much as he did when he last saw him. Sirius also vaguely noticed that he seemed to look a tad malnourished.

"A lupin and your cousin of course," Mad-Eye introduced, in which Darius only nodded although his gaze lingered with Sirius'. "And this is Molly Weasley." Darius shook her hand with a little, "Pleasure to meet you." Remus then asked Moody if he wished to stay for dinner, but he declined and turned to leave, giving Darius a rough pat on the shoulder and Sirius a look that madehim scratch the back of his neck.

There was an awkward silence until Remus said, "It's been a long time, hasn't it Darius?"

Sirius blinked. "Darius?" he interrupted.

Darius frowned. Had Sirius really forgotten his name? "It's my _name_, Sirius," he answered stiffly, trying his best to conceal the malice in his voice, "Luciana changed it a little after I moved in, if you remember." The corner of his mouth twitched at the look of deep thought that crossed Sirius's face. _This is almost funny_, he thought bitterly. Meanwhile, Lupin stared at Sirius astonished.

"How could you have forgotten your cousin's name if you lived with him?"

Sirius's expression turned slightly sheepish. "I just don't remember-"

"It's probably because you never paid me much mind," Darius said venomously although he tried to sugar-coat it with a soft smile, "Though, really, I never expected you to in the first place."

Remus glared at Sirius when he gave a tight smirk and retorted, "I guess you're right, _Uldaricus_." Darius pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing.

"Your supper is finished," Mrs. Weasley announced suddenly before Darius could respond to his cousin. "I'd best be leaving now," she continued, already walking off.

"Thank you again, Molly," Remus said, his voice kind yet stiff, his eyes firmly set on Sirius. Both his and Sirius' attentions then fell to Darius when he stood quick and unexpectedly and shook Mrs. Weasley's hand again. "Allow me to take you back to the fireplace, that is if you Flooed here!" He said in an overly-cheery voice, taking the startled woman's hand and swiftly leaving. Remus felt even more pity toward Darius at his need for a quick getaway, but Sirius on the other hand thought of it as humorous.

"He hasn't changed at all after twenty-eight years, has he? He's still the same coward." He began to laugh but quickly silenced himself after a glance at Remus' expression. "What?"

"You are probably the most horrible person on this earth, Padfoot," the werewolf said hotly, "Whether you like it or not, he is your cousin and is going to live with you."

Sirius scowled. "Look, just because he's my cousin doesn't mean I should like him."

"Would you do it for me?"

"Do what? I'm not going to accept him as family if that's what you mean-"

"All I'm saying is that you should at least _try_ to patch things up with Darius since he'll be living with you." Sirius snorted. "Besides, it's not _his_ fault that you were unfriendly as kids. I vaguely remember _you_ being the one to always volunteer teasing _him_," Remus then added in a more forceful tone, "You didn't have a real reason either, did you?"

Sirius glared angrily at his friend and stood. "Just drop it, Moony," he growled before stomping out of the kitchen and up the stairs, ignoring Remus when he called out his name. After hearing the door of Sirius' bedroom slam above him, Remus slumped back into his chair and kneaded his eye with the palm of his hand.

"He's so immature . . . "

"He probably didn't," Darius said softly from the door, making the werewolf jump, "About having a reason, that is. But then again, he didn't want to associate with anyone his mother favored." He leaned against the wall, his arms folded, his eyes looking at anything but the man at the table as he continued. "But I guess he does have a deeper reason for hating me, a more obvious and understandable reason that I have to admit I agree on."

"No, he shouldn't have any reason for hating you!" Remus defended, "He was the one who started everything! You had nothing to do with it!"

Darius laughed tightly and shook his head. "No, you're wrong, Lupin. Very,_ very _wrong. I had everything to do with his hatred of me." He fell silent after that and Remus had to coax him to go on, patting the seat beside him. Darius slumped into the chair and sighed. "Say that you and your mother didn't get along at all; you were the exact opposite of what she wanted." Remus nodded stiffly. "Then one day, someone that you neither she nor you knew came and stole her affections. Even though you were that woman's child, she loved a complete stranger more than you. Wouldn't you hate that person?" Remus didn't respond, but Darius didn't need an answer.

"But still, after twenty-eight years couldn't he have realized that it wasn't your fault?" Remus responded finally in a quiet voice, eyes still on the younger. Darius avoided his gaze, his own eyes set on his hands as they wrung a napkin. Why hadn't Sirius seen that it wasn't his fault after all that time? He then began to realize how much he really didn't want to be there. He loved his aunt dearly and would do anything in his power for her, but, for some reason, living with Sirius felt far too much. Bottled up adolescent frustration and distress welled in his chest, causing his eyes to prick with tears, his vision blurring slightly. He refused to cry, however, and stood slowly.

"If you don't mind, Lupin, I'll be going to bed now."

Lupin stared up at him, forehead creased deeply in concern. "I'll stay here for awhile, if you'd like, just to keep Sirius in check."

Darius shook his head slightly with a small smile and then repeated, "I'll just go to bed now."

Remus sighed and nodded solemnly. "Wefixed your bedroom for you," he stated softly, his eyes never leaving Darius as he murmured a soft "thank you" and exited the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, Remus slumped back in his chair and cradled his head. This was definitely going to be a long night.

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**Chapter 1 End**

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A/N: Feedback would be greatly appreciated! 


	2. Seduction?

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**Of Truths**

Chapter 2: Seduction?

Darius inspected his reflection in his mirror on his dresser, trying to form the most attractive glances he could muster without laughing at himself. The want to go to bed, of course, was nothing more than a lie to get himself away from Remus before he did something completely stupid. And to probably start getting himself ready for the first phase of his plan: seduction.

Needless to say, seduction was definitely not his forte. He had never even come close to seducing anyone in his life, but he had watched the best at work: Bellatrix, Lucius, and of course, Sirius himself. Darius snorted at that and mused how his cousin's constant flirting would be his downfall. Of course, after Sirius' little tantrum earlier, he had to tone it down to a near minimal or the man wouldn't even look him in the face. Not that he did much at this point, but it would still be no good.

He froze suddenly on one awkward expression when he heard the front door close, which most likely was Remus leaving, and then the heavy footsteps of Sirius on his way to the kitchen. He couldn't help but grin at himself. Things were going perfectly. _Far_ too perfectly. At this rate something awful was surely going to happen on his behalf, and, just maybe, he deserved it. The smile fell from his face, and he looked up at his reflection almost guiltily.

_No, no_, a voice in his mind echoed, _you have to be as confident as ever, no guilt. What have you done to Sirius that you should be guilty about?_

_It's more of what I'm _about _to do_, Darius thought bitterly, heaving a sigh. But he decided that the voice was right, to a point. He needed to have the upmost confidence in himself and his abilities. And Sirius did deserve it, didn't he? At nine he knew that if Sirius was around, and even more smiling, nothing positive would come from it, only for Sirius and his friends. These thoughts gave him a bit more strength and he smiled at himself and tried to neaten his hair as best he could.

He waited a good ten minutes before he made his way down to the kitchen, or until he was sure he looked proper, for lack of a better word. Downstairs was dark, and he only prayed that Sirius was actually in the kitchen and not elsewhere to pop up and scare him senseless, or something worse. This had to be done without any flaws, or everything he had done for this would be for naught. He swallowed down a sigh of relief when he saw a thin slice of dull light streaming from the ajar door of the kitchen. He gave himself a last check over before sucking in a deep breath through his teeth and slowly pushing open the door.

Sirius was in mid-sip of a bottle of liquor when Darius opened the door. The fact that Sirius was drunk drove him on, and he did not falter when a death glare was sent direction. He simply smiled and made his way to the stove where Mrs. Weasley's food still sat.

_This will never work_, he thought suddenly.

_It's too late to back down now either way_, the voice in his mind growled.

He tried to move as smooth as he possibly could as he filled his plate and sat across Sirius at the table. To gain the other man's interest, he crossed his legs and let his foot brush against Sirius' knee, praying that that wasn't taking it a step too far.

Sirius flinched and glared up at his cousin accusingly. He opened his mouth to demand him to move away, but was struck silent by the way Darius simply let his eyes slide up toward him, a move the younger had learned from Bellatrix. Sirius snorted and settled for a sneer that lacked a great deal of conviction.

It was becoming increasingly hard for Darius to hold back the shock that forced to break through at how he was able to silence his cousin with the slightest movement of his eyes. He noticed Sirius' hand twitch when his tongue slid around his fork sensually, and nearly cried out "Merlin's balls!" at the look of confusion, disgust, and, to Darius' amazement, arousal that contorted his face. It was actually _working_, for Merlin's sake! As the other man reached to open another bottle, Darius beat him to it and placed his fingers on it.

"You wouldn't mind if I had this, would you?" He had uttered those words lowly, almost barely. He personally thought that it wasn't a very powerful request, but he had witnessed Lucius use it many times and had worked all occasions. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and suave, much like Lucius'.

Darius thought he had succeeded, but then Sirius gave another toothy sneer. "What the_ hell _do you think you're doing, Ulrike?" Darius held onto his impassive facade save for a slight cringe at the use of his old name.

"I haven't any idea what you are talking about, Sirius," he stated quietly, now looking Sirius directly in the eye.

Sirius snarled menacingly and stood swiftly, slamming his hands against the table causing dishes and silverware to rattle and a few of the bottles of liquor to topple over with a chorus of clinks. "_You know _exactly _what I am talking about_!" he hissed. As Sirius towered over the younger, Darius' guise shattered to pieces, broken by his childish fear of his cousin. Although they were a good distance from each other, when Sirius poised his arm to strike, Darius shut his eyes and braced himself for the hit.

---

Darius woke suddenly, warm and drowsy, yet still terribly shaken up by the dream—nightmare actually—that he had departed. He wanted to laugh when he discovered that it was nothing more than a dream and in reality was still dressed in his clothing from the evening before and was face-down on his bed. He did not fret over that then, however, and desperately tried to will himself back to sleep, hopefully not to be greeted with the ending of that nightmare, but his body failed to acknowledge the commands, and soon he found himself pulling back the curtains to the morning sun and beginning to dress.

He had a theory as to why he did so, though. Well, he knew exactly why he did so for it had happened plenty of times before. After being a Ministry lapdog for a long period of time, the body tends to remain with the rhythm, knowing very well the consequence of tardiness, even when it doesn't need to move at all. Darius sighed in defeat as his body started to run him through his usual morning routine, his first stop the kitchen.

Although it was probably late morning, the halls of Grimmauld Place were still dark since the muck and grime that coated the windows blocked even the slightest stream of light. Darius looked up at the familiar floating candles in question and realized that the light they gave off was so greatly dim that it would be near impossible for it to even come close to the crown of his head although they were a few feet above him. He felt sympathy toward Sirius for having to endure this every day. The sudden thought of his cousin refreshed the memory of the dream and left Darius suddenly cold.

"Lumos," he muttered quietly after having pulled out his wand from his back pocket, having forgotten the spell to brighten the candles. The light wasn't the best against the wide halls of Grimmauld Place, but it would do.

---

After wandering aimlessly in the dark for what felt like an hour, he finally reached the first floor, perhaps even darker than upstairs. The journey itself wasn't in vain for he had discovered where the portrait of his Aunt was. He had chosen against speaking with her then although he was anxious to hear her voice again, but his instincts told him to hold off until later.

He stumbled slightly after stepping off the last step, clumsiness, he was told, was an awful trait he had gained from his mother from his mother, and lost grip of his wand. He watched in dismay as his wand skittered on the floor, plunging him in pitch black, a small sound of anguish escaping his throat. He stood there dumbly for a while, his weight on his right foot, his left behind and lifted slightly off the ground, his arm outstretched. He saw its faint glow still beneath some kind of object, most likely a desk, and he lunged after it, only to crash into something firm yet covered in cloth.

He let out a squawk of surprise and then tried to move away from it, but his foot hooked around the thing and soon he was falling backward. That is until a strong arm caught him around his upper back. It took Darius a few seconds to realize that there was a faint light gleaming in his face. He blinked a couple of times before being greeted by the face of his cousin in the pale light, looking rather vexed.

"Sirius!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Sirius asked irritated and Darius vaguely remembered the dream. He could only mumble a string of unintelligible sounds in response, his cheeks taking a fine rosy color at their positions. Sirius noticed the blush, but not the reason, and a little less than nicely let him go. As Darius straightened himself out, Sirius retrieved his wand.

"I was going to the kitchen—thank you—" he gratefully accepted his wand, "for breakfast."

Sirius snorted. "There isn't much food in there that _you_ would consider 'breakfast.'

"Then we will have to simply make do, even if that means having Mrs. Weasley's supper," Darius replied with a soft smile, walking into the kitchen.

"_We_?" This was said with a slight smile, the truest smile Darius had seen from Sirius since he'd arrived, and, despite himself, his heart skipped a beat.

"Of course. I'm making breakfast for you, too."

Sirius seated himself at the table, watching his cousin with interest as he raided the cupboards, taking out spices from time to time, opening them to sniff their contents. He actually burst out laughing when Darius let out a loud yell as a horde of spiders spewed from a plastic container he had opened.

In the end, they decided (actually Darius_ insisted_, not wanting to go near another container) to have the supper Mrs. Weasley had left for them which consisted of a simple yet hearty onion soup. They were seated and about to eat when Sirius leapt up from the table suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Darius questioned, his voice laced in fear. He lifted his legs up from the floor and scanned beneath the table quickly for any sign of spiders. He had concluded from the incident that he would forever be terribly afraid of spiders. Sirius said nothing but pulled out two bottles of liquor from the fridge as his answer.

Trying to push back the growing feeling of deja vu, Darius said, "_Liquor_? This early in the _morning_?"

Sirius grinned and placed a bottle before Darius. "Well sure. But then again-" he snatched up the bottle before Darius could take it, "I'm sure that you can't handle your liquor."

Darius scowled and hesitated for a moment before snatching the liquor back. "I sure as hell _can_! Watch." Sirius smirked victoriously and plopped in his chair as he watched the younger down the entire bottle in one sitting, barely taking a breath between gulps. Darius slammed the liquor down on the table and Sirius clapped his hands.

"Impressive."

"Told you."

So the game was on, and soon the soup sat forgotten as the number of empty bottles grew. And it went on in silence. This silence was quite different from others, though. It held absolutely no tension between them. They almost felt comfortable in each other's company. Both paused from drinking at that musing and slowly glanced up at one another. Sirius snorted suddenly and shortly Darius was stifling giggles with the back of his hand. Then they burst into a fit of laughter, Sirius cradling his head with one arm and Darius nearly choking on his liquor.

"Well, this was unexpected . . . " Darius drawled after they had quieted down, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

"Unexpected?" Sirius replied, cocking his head to the side with his eyebrow raised, tilting his bottle casually.

Darius chuckled. "Fine, fine. This is really fucking _weird_."

They laughed again. This time, however, when the laughter ended, it left a sobering clarity and an awkward silence.

"Darius?" Sirius said in a low voice, watching the liquid in the bottle swirl through the brown glass.

"Hm?"

"I was wondering-" there was a sigh, "did you ever really like me at any point when we were younger?"

Darius was quiet for a moment, childish grin disappearing, before he finally answered, "Yes, actually. Why?"

"When?"

Darius was about to ask why when he noticed the serious expression on the other's face and simply sighed. "Remember that time when you and the others scared the shit out of me with that damned charmed rubber snake in the attic? And then all the crap in there fell on me and I broke my leg?" Sirius winced at the memory but nodded. "That evening when you had to take care of me while Aunt looked for that spell, that was when I really liked you." Sirius glanced at Darius sadly as he smiled almost fondly at the memory, his head down to Sirius.

"So," Darius said jauntily to break the angsty atmosphere, "Did _you_ ever like _me_ when we were kids?"

Sirius chuckled and said softly, almost to himself, "When you were asleep." He frowned then stood suddenly and muttered an excuse before exiting quickly, leaving a bewildered Darius.

---

Darius sat there speechless, trying to make sense of what Sirius had said. He had liked him when he was asleep? Well that made absolutely no sense at all! Unless, of course, if it was meant in a negative way, as in he liked him when he was asleep and out of the way. Darius nodded to himself. Yes, yes, that definitely made more sense since it sounded much like Sirius.

But that did not explain why he had ran out so fast. Or why he ran out at all. The liquor in his system, however, prevented him thinking about it more. Darius sighed and opened another bottle, too intoxicated to think any further.

---

Sirius crashed into his door so hard that he toppled onto his back on the dusty carpet. He laid there for quite some time, his breathing erratic, clutching his head as if in pain. Clippings of an unwanted memory swarmed his mind like an angry blaze.

---

**Flashback**

---

_It was only a mere week until the first term of Sirius' last year at Hogwarts, and yet he still had plenty of homework to finish. As he made his way to the library of Grimmauld Place, he wished he had asked Remus for help earlier, but of course, being too happy to see them it had slipped his mind completely. He smiled to himself. At least he would be seeing them later today, even if that meant they would have to hold off on doing anything fun so he could work on his essays._

_He stopped himself from throwing open the door when a groan from inside reached his ears. Was Regulus . . ._

_A moan._

Bloody hell_, Sirius thought with a childish smirk. Just wait until he told James that his brother—his stuck-up, impotent arse of a brother—was having a pleasant little wank in the library. Sirius was already pushing the door slowly ajar at this thought, wanting to get as much embarrassing evidence as he could. Maybe blowing off his essays was a good thing . . . _

_His smile quickly vanished._

_Regulus was indeed inside, and his pants were well beneath his knees, though not alone. And _Merlin _did Sirius wish he was. There, entirely nude below the torso, excluding his shoes, seated in his 'brother's' lap and wrapped in his arms in the most evocative way, was undoubtedly none other than ten-year-old Uldaricus Black. He gasped and arched as he rode Regulus, wrapping his arms tighter around him as Regulus did likewise, a moan escaping his bruised lips._

_Sirius' mouth went dry. What in Merlin's name was going on! He watched in horror as Uldaricus rocked his hips against Regulus' haphazard thrusts with all the ease and skill of an experienced whore. It was then that Sirius realized that it was his brother who was making the most noise. Just what had this child been through? The answer was simple enough, really, and Sirius wondered why he had asked it; Uldaricus' mother was a whore, and obviously had taught her son to be as such. Sirius' expression turned disgusted. And here was Regulus, taking advantage of this 'talent' like any Slytherin would do. Was he _that_ much of a sick fuck?_

_He wanted to burst in there and tear Uldaricus away,_ save _him. He still didn't like the boy any more than he did before, but his Gryffindor side would not stand for a damned Slytherin to exploit him like that._

If it's so bad, why doesn't Uldaricus just stop? _A darker voice in his mind asked._

Because he_—_ _Sirius' mind started, but he himself couldn't find a decent reason why. Uldaricus could have simply run to mother, but he didn't. It was as if he was willing to comply to Regulus' foul wants._

_Sirius stifled a gasp when their lips crushed against each other, their tongues swiping at anything in a sloppy kiss, leaving their cheeks glossy. Sirius' knees were shaking so hard he was sure he was going to collapse. It was so revolting, vile, nasty, and unbelievably_ horrible _to watch, only Sirius couldn't pull himself away. Regulus gave a hoarse cry. Sirius concluded that he was either a virgin . . . or Uldaricus was just that fucking good. He preferred the first._

_He—he— _

_He wanted to know how it felt to be in Uldaricus. He wanted to feel what Regulus felt, having Ulrike's body taking in as much of him as he could. He—he— _

He_ was the sick fuck._

_He ran then. He couldn't stand it any longer. He had left his school bag there, but he didn't care at all, he just needed to get as far away from that room as virtually possible. He slowed down at the drawing room door, too exhausted to continue any farther. He swung open the door and was greeted by a pair of spectacled green eyes._

_"Prongs!" _

He hated them so much.

_James cocked his eyebrow._

Regulus for being a goddamned, sick fuck of a Slytherin . . .

_"What's up Padfoot?"_

. . . and Uldaricus for making him want him so much.

_"Prongs, mate, do you think your grandparents would mind if I moved in with you?"_

---

**End Flashback**

---

Why couldn't Azkaban have taken _that_ memory? Sirius was close to sobbing, wrapping his arms around him. He wanted to make up with Darius, he really did. He seemed to be the little of his family that still considers him kin, not disgusted to be in the same room with him, but that memory, that horrid, horrid, memory, prevented him. After all the memories Azkaban took, why not that one?

---

The alcohol helped Darius brush off the thought a little afterwards and was finishing his fourth bottle when he heard the latch of the front door come undone. A few moments later Remus walked in with a large and apparently heavy basket. He looked startled from what Darius presumed were the bottles of alcohol, and he returned it with a foolish grin, unable to stop himself. The fact that Remus was here pleased him in such a peculiar way he didn't care that he was seeing him in such a vulnerable way as he normally would.

"Darius—"

"_Yes_?" Darius drawled, resting his chin on his hands, grin widening.

Remus' expression grew even more alarmed. "Are you—Are you _drunk_?"

Darius laughed. "Maybe just a bit . . . "

Concern settled at the bottom of Remus' stomach. He nearly dropped the basket on the floor, but managed to place it on the table and kneel beside the younger. Had Sirius done something to make Darius so distressed that he needed to drown himself in rum? He grasped the man firmly by the shoulders and shook them slightly, trying to break some rationality into his head. "Darius . . . did Sirius do something to make you end up like, well, _this_?"

Darius snorted and turned his head slightly. "It's that bastard's fault in the first place!" At the furrowing of Remus' brows, he waved his hand absently. "No, no, not like that. We had breakfast together and everything, and then_ he _brought out the liquor."

Remus smiled weakly yet still looked a tad disturbed as he straightened himself. "I take it you and Sirius are getting along, then?" Darius simply nodded, his attention set to the large basket. Remus noticed this and chuckled. "Molly thinks that you're too thin, so . . . " he gestured to the basket in which Darius laughed.

"Would you mind having breakfast with me?" He asked abruptly, perhaps too eagerly. He had already eaten and the alcohol filled the places the soup didn't cover, but he just didn't want Remus to go so soon, he just wanted someone there, a common side-effect when he was inebriated. The werewolf looked quite taken aback by the desperation in the other man's voice, but agreed nonetheless. "Of course Darius." Darius gave a wide smile that held the childish cheerfulness that only liquor could bring forth. Remus couldn't help but grin himself.

As he sat down after they had finished setting out the food, Remus asked, "So, where is Sirius anyway?"

Darius frowned at the mention of his cousin, now remembering how he had ran out earlier. However, he felt that Remus didn't need to know about that little detail, and instead said, "I think he's asleep."

Remus laughed again. "I thought so."

"It smells good," Darius commented with exaggerated admiration, using no way to conceal his desire to change the subject, "I can cook myself, but there isn't much food to work with here," he flinched when he recalled the event with the spiders, "I'll have to go shopping after work—"

"I can," Remus said carelessly, "I can do the shopping for you."

Darius shook his head, "No, no, I can do it after work tomorrow. I really don't want to be a burden. Besides, the Ministry isn't too far from a small market." He then smiled brightly. "You've always been so nice to me, Remus, even after twenty-eight years . . . "

Remus took Darius' hand, his cheeks flushing slightly, taking note that the younger had said his first name, "Someone needs to be, Darius. What do you do in the Ministry?"

Darius grew embarrassed from the mention of his job, not the fact that the werewolf was grasping his hand. Talking about his job was one thing he had planned not to do, for he knew he would spill something without even realizing. Heat snaked it way up to his cheeks as he proclaimed, "I work with Lucius."

Remus nodded, curious of the other man's odd expression. Perhaps that was shame? "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Darius," he assured, gripping his hand a little tighter, then he smiled, "A real slave driver, I take it? What do you do for him?"

Darius' face split into a smirk, blush still there. "I suck his prick for a living." He then burst into a fierce bout of sniggers, apparently unaware of what he had just confessed, as he had feared would happen. Remus laughed as well, but he couldn't shake off the sincerity he had felt from that statement.

---

It little afterward, after they had finished and washed the dishes, and neither Remus nor Darius had seen Sirius. Remus was growing more and more worried, and despite himself, so was Darius.

"I'd better go check on him," Remus said absently, standing from the table. Darius jumped up and stopped him.

"I'll get him!" he said, jutting his thumb at himself.

Remus shook his head. "You don't know what Sirius is capable of when he's drunk—" Darius waved his hand to dismiss him and was already bounding up the stairs.

Remus sighed and slumped back in his chair. _If those two continue this,_ he thought, but it was cut off by a happier thought.

_At least they're getting along . . . _

---

Darius knocked on Sirius' door again, his ear pressed firmly against the flaking door. Still nothing. He sighed. Why wouldn't he Sirius open his door? Darius continued to flick his eyes towards the knob, but kept choosing against it. If Sirius' door was closed (which, funny enough, it always was) Uldaricus was not able to enter without permission. Not like he would be getting in any other way.

_But that was ten-year-old Uldaricus Black_, he thought, _You are thirty-eight-year-old Darius Black, therefore the rule doesn't bound you._

He smiled and nodded at his logic and opened the door, "Siri—"

Said man was curled up on the floor.

"—us?"

---

End Chapter 2

---

A/N: Reviews appreciated and if you see any mistakes, I would like to know.


	3. Letters

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I swear, I was blushing for a long time! Sorry for the lateness! Alright, the pairings are SBOMC RLOMC and will remain as such. I swear.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Letters**

A good distance away in a small Muggle flat, Octavius Rossi was brought to consciousness by a soft prodding on his shoulders. Immediately, he became aware of the stifling, although very familiar, heat wrapping itself around his throat and his torso. He made to sit up, but was forced back down into the pillow and pulled back against an equally heated chest by the arm that was wrapped around him. Again, very familiar.

"You're awake," the man said softly with a hint of amusement.

"And you're still here," he answered dryly, prying the tanned, sticky fingers off his chest. The man laughed and Octavius rolled his eyes, though a small smile accompanied it. He yawned loudly, reaching his hand up to clutch his pillow and snuggle back into the warmth, ignoring the dryness of his throat to enjoy his last moments with his oddly recurring 'one night' lover. The man kissed his shoulder almost affectionately, though the slight flick of his tongue overrode that. Just then, a single high-pitched beep was heard from behind them; his alarm clock declaring the hour as it always did.

"You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you, Daniel?" Octavius mumbled drowsily, falling back unto his pillow.

Daniel clutched the clock from the end table, and announced, "About eleven—"

"_What_?" Octavius hissed, snatching the alarm clock from his hand and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed so he was sitting, his free hand raking his dark hair back from his face. Daniel watched him, his head in hand, unmistakably entertained as Octavius threw the object aside with such a force that the two hands became undone behind the plastic and then hurried out of the room in a flurry of curses. "What's wrong?" he called out, though there really was no need to, but harrying Octavius was something he loved to do.

"You fucking_ bastard_! I'm late _again_ because of you, you lecherous old man!" came the wrathful reply, followed by a string of insults, the next worse than the one before it. The small abuse didn't offend Daniel the slightest and he even fell back on the pillow, laughing hysterically.

"Bastard," Octavius continued in a small whisper as he groped around the sink blindly, his glare narrowing his eyes so much it was difficult to see, before shouting aloud, "See if you'll ever touch my ass again!" His hand had found was it was searching for—a tube of toothpaste—but had crushed it so hard, the cap flew from its position and Octavius ended up with a handful of the contents. His cheeks flared a deep red in anger and he raised his fist to slam it against the sink, when a dark hand, much larger than his, encircled the wrist of the hand holding the toothpaste and another gripped his chin between the thumb and forefinger and jerked his head up toward the mirror.

Octavius' flush spread down from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, surely not in anger, as Daniel's face came into view, nuzzling his neck lovingly, pausing a moment to bury his nose into the thick, dark tresses, before confronting their reflections as well. "We'd make a beautiful couple, don't you think?" he said softly, letting his hand snake up the chin to his neck then his cheek. Octavius shivered slightly at the caress and his black eyes fluttered up to their reflections. There was a large contrast in their appearances: Daniel was tall, strong, and rugged with curly dark brown hair and chocolate skin, while Octavius was short and lanky, considerably pale, his head adorning the Snape trademark inky, stringy hair, and his face the nose, though a size smaller and a smidgen straighter thanks to his father's genes.

"_We'd make a beautiful couple, don't you think?"_

Octavius turned his head away and wrenched himself out of Daniel's grip with a snort, reaching for a small hand towel to wipe his hand. "Have you forgotten you're married?" he said with a small smile.

Daniel leaned against the sink and smirked himself. "No, actually, I haven't."

Octavius rolled his eyes, "Would you just go to her already? Good lord! Why a woman of her stature would let a dog like you out after dark, I will never know!"

Daniel laughed loudly and kissed the smaller man on the neck. "Fine, fine. Twenty galleons as usual?"

"Eighty."

This earned a raised eyebrow. "Oh? What for?"

Octavius rolled his eyes again and said matter-of-factly, "I go in at five o'clock in the morning; it is now eleven. I charged you ten galleons for each hour. Eleven minus five is six, six multiplied by ten is sixty, sixty plus twenty is eighty. So, you owe me eighty galleons." He batted his eyelashes a few times before the larger man pulled him in a bruising kiss. "Do you still not see why I love you?" Daniel chuckled, his hand sliding down to cup the younger man's pert backside.

Octavius let out a small sound of surprise and tried to push himself away, but it was to no avail. "Wha-What the hell do you think you're—" He was cut off as Daniel shifted slightly and something hard pressed on the inside of his thigh. "Oh no—oh _hell_ no! I have to go to work!"

Daniel's eyes twinkled suggestively. "They can survive one more hour without you, can't they? Youare _only _a secretary, Tavie." Without waiting for a response, he swept the resisting Octavius in his arms and walked back into the room, his face split into a grin.

---

After nearly thirty-three years, there was one thing Alissa Daegon always thought true about the Ministry of Magic: intimate relationships between co-workers, even more with superiors, was strictly prohibited. And since the day she was employed, that rule was complied absolutely beautifully. Besides, at that time most of the employees were already pass that stage and had wives or husbands and children of their own, so that the Ministry never really troubled over, and after having plenty of horribly sexually driven jobs, she felt it was best without. Friends from her days at Hogwarts would be astonished at this statement for she was known to never turn down a good shag and have quite the suggestive mouth, but times change and people change.

It was that time again, when Alissa was to go to each department of the Ministry and observe the behaviors of the employees, and Lucius Malfoy's was next on her list. She cringed just outside the double doors at that thought. Although this office passed each inspection, she had always left feeling utterly disgusted at Malfoy's conduct, in almost everything he did she spotted some kind of sexual innuendo. And his secretary wasn't any better at all. When brought to the attention of her superiors, however, they marked her down as becoming paranoid and so Malfoy remained.

She took a deep intake of breath and straightened her clothes before pushing the door open. The room she stepped in was expansive and impressive yet barren save for a few doors, plants, the desk that stood before her, and the man seated behind it, his hand holding his head up as he read a magazine. The secretary glanced up for a moment then rolled his eyes and returned to his magazine, dismissing her presence entirely. When Alissa's face contorted in anger and she puffed out her chest, the secretary expected to hear the pudgy woman hoot.

"What do you want this time, Mrs. Daegon?" he asked boredly, engrossed in what he was reading.

Alissa lifted her chin slightly and snapped, "You know very well that I am here for the monthly conduct inspection, and if you do not watch your tone I will have to report you, Octavius Rossi. _Again_."

Octavius snorted and leaned back in his chair, lifting his feet up to the surface of the desk, blocking the woman's face. "Oh _yes_, because that worked oh so _well_ the first five times you did it, right?" He grinned victoriously at the reddening of Alissa's face and the tightening of her beefy hands.

"I do not wish to have this conversation with you again, Mr. Rossi," she gritted through her forced smile, "I'll just talk to Malfoy, survey the other workers, and then you won't have to see me again for another _month_."

"You can't see Mr. Malfoy today, ma'am."

Alissa's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean I can't see him today? This is mandatory, may I remind you—"

"Mandatory or not, ma'am, he doesn't want to see anyone today—" he glanced at a note taped at the top of the desk and read, "—'Especially not that ugly, sexless bitch, Daegon'." Octavius watched the woman, amused, as she lost all will to stay calm and tromped to the door to his right, her face turning a brilliant shade of purple. "You shouldn't do that," he warned in a singsong tone, but she ignored him and threw the door open. There was silence, and Octavius took the joy of watching the woman's face make a drastic change of purple to white, and ticked off the seconds until she screamed and fled. He cackled as Daegon waddled frantically out of the room, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Moments later, a lanky brunette walked out, both his clothes and hair disheveled, caught sight of Octavius, and burst out laughing. "You're a complete and utter shame to the Snape name, man. You do know that Lucius is going to have your ass for this, right Tavie?" Octavius dropped his head in his hands and sighed, "In more ways than one, Elijah. But he let off the 'eight hours late' thing, right?" Elijah rolled his eyes.

"So, no hard feelings about me kickin' you out?" Octavius continued as Elijah walked towards one of the other doors.

"You best watch yourself, man. You'll get fired the next time," Elijah said instead before disappearing behind the door.

Octavius smiled. He really didn't expect for him to answer. And there wasn't a single chance Lucius would fire him. Lucius would never have fired Octavius for the most obvious of reasons. Firstly, his uncle was Lucius' best friend since their days in Hogwarts and served as godfather to his son Draco and his upcoming child. And secondly, Octavius was just as good, if not better, in bed as Severus, which instantly made him Lucius' favorite. Octavius gave another bitter sigh and dropped his magazine carelessly on the desk and fished out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket.

"_By the way, you just received a letter from that uncle of yours."_ Daniel had announced just as he was about to step out the door, and he crammed it in his pocket being still angry at him. Now he read it slowly, happy that his uncle had finally written back to him after he had sent a letter a good month ago.

_Dear Octavius,_

_Don't be angry at me over the lateness of this letter. I've just been preoccupied with the upcoming school year._

"I'm sure you are, Uncle," Octavius muttered.

_Anyway, I would like to know how Triste and her husband are holding out; give them my love. Your grandfather is missing you lot dearly, as well as Septimus and Severin. By the way, Septimus and his wife had another litter this year. Triplets. All girls. _**_Again_**_. Seth and Sean are entering their fourth year at Beauxbatons, and Eilena her seventh. Titus is still abroad studying werewolves; funny, no? He even brought one of the elder Weasleys over during the summer. Sometimes I really do wonder if I will ever find a sanctuary away from these people. _

_Oh, Sebastian said his very first word not long ago, and oddly enough it was 'pissant'. Seeing that you are the only one whom we have ever heard that word from, we would like to thank you for corrupting our son. Speaking of which, Gabriel and I are having our anniversary soon, our twenty-second._

_And most importantly, how are you? I'm guessing you are still fucking that wedded man, aren't you? And he isn't the only one is he? No, I am not 'bitching' as you are so fond of saying. I was nineteen once as well, Octavius, and you will have to learn to grow up sooner or later, so why not now? And please tell me you kicked that damned roommate of yours out the door._

_By the way, something very odd happened to me just a week of ago. It was on Sunday, the second I believe, around twelve o'clock am. I was just coming upstairs from making a potion for an associate of mine when there was a knock at the door. I opened it, ready to hex anyone for being at my door, Muggle or no, and it was none other than that workfellow of yours, Darius. He looked rather grave and told me that he wished to have a word with me._

_Before you say anything, I didn't just hex him anyway. I allowed him in knowing very well that you would have thrown a tantrum if I hadn't. He offered him some wine and he declined which startled me seeing that you have always told me how much of an alcoholic he was._

_I supposed he indeed had something very serious to speak to me about, although I couldn't quite deduce why _me_. I could only guess that it had to do with you, though I wasn't very worried. _

_Your friend asked for me to brew a Pregnancy Potion for him, but I didn't see the reason why. And, (I still don't understand this at all), he said he wished to bear the child of his cousin, Sirius! The idea is _**_completely_**_unreasonable. His mind was made up, however, so I brewed it for him and he retrieved it seven days later. I tried to talk him out of it, but he still wished to continue._

_I swore that I wouldn't inform you about what he was planning, but it is so unbelievably irrational I needed to tell someone _**_something_**_, and you are probably the only one who could talk him out of it._

_Severus_

_P.S. Darius stated that Regulus is 'missing' when we first spoke. Does he not know he's dead?_

And there was silence, Octavius' eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, he quickly retrieved a piece of parchment and a quill, ready to respond, when he was greeted by a painfully familiar grin. He didn't look up, knowing this person already.

"Daniel."

This earned a smirk and a wink from the taller man. "Nice to see you again too, love."

Octavius narrowed his eyes and hissed, "What are you doing here? I told you to go back to your wife!"

"And I did," Daniel responded, smile still present, "She had an appointment with Crouch, so I just came here to say that my wife's about."

"_WHAT_?"

And sure enough, the heavy double doors behind Daniel were pushed open by thin fingers and revealed a tall, aristocratic woman with short, straight blond hair and hazel eyes, sporting impressively expensive purple robes that Octavius couldn't even think of affording. And this was Deirdre Yvon, one of the most powerful witches in politics, someone who was always seen in newspapers, both Muggle and Magic. She strode forward, her chin jutting out as if she owned the place, which she might as well have seeing the money she had in her possession.

"Ah, Deirdre," Daniel said with a small smile, offering his hand to his wife who accepted it and leaned into his chest, "We were just talking about you." She caught sight of Octavius her eyes raked over the smaller, trembling man, inspecting him suspiciously.

"You have, have you? May I ask who you are?"

There was a lump in Octavius throat at being directly addressed by her, and so his voice was hoarse when he said, "O-octavius Rossi, ma'am."

Her eyes flicked over him again and her lips curled up in a cruel smirk. "Ah, I remember you now! You are that silly little boy of Triste's, are you not?" Octavius flinched slightly at the insult, anger tightening his jaw as he nodded slowly. "And what is it that you do here, Mr. Rossi? Surely it must be something very important seeing that you are of the Snape family."

"I . . ." Am fucking your husband? He mentally laughed at that. Surely that was something that would wipe that damned knowing smirk from her face, because he knew something that she didn't. "I . . ."

"He's Lucius' right-hand man, love," Daniel cut in, smiling apologetically at Octavius. He raised his eyebrows as a hint for Deirdre to stop talking, but she only continued.

"And where is Black? He's related to_ the_ Sirius Black, correct?" She was asking the most obvious of questions and Octavius' frown deepened.

Daniel then took that time to whisper something in his wife's ear, too low for Octavius to hear, and she bid the pair farewell and left. "Sorry 'bout that, Tavie," Daniel apologized.

Octavius narrowed his eyes dangerously. "For the love of fucking _God_, Daniel! I warned you, I fucking _warned _you, if you _ever_ pulled shit like that on me again, I'd—"

"You'd never shag me again. Yes, I know, and I swear it will never happen again." He smiled, but Octavius scowled and returned to the magazine he was previously reading.

"By the way, where's that friend of yours, anyway?" His voice was oddly interested, similar as to when he was discussing politics. Curious yet severe.

Octavius, however, didn't catch onto the strange tone in his voice, but still decided to tell him nothing of what he had learned. If Darius wished to keep what he was doing a complete secret, as his closest friend Octavius had to oblige. "He's just moving to a new flat is all. He'll be back by tomorrow. What's with the sudden interest?" Daniel avoided this question however and Octavius assumed he just hadn't heard him.

---

Blood pounded furiously in Darius' ears at the sight of his cousin curled up on the floor. In the darkness he could tell whether or not Sirius was breathing at all, and the mere thought terrified him. If Sirius was dead, then he wouldn't be able to bear his child, which meant that he couldn't satisfy his Aunt's wish, which meant absolutely no good. At once he was at his side, nudging him gently. He pulled back after a few seconds, wondering if he had awakened him, but the slap to his face was answer enough.

It didn't have much force behind it, Darius hardly even felt a sting, but the suddenness of the action startled him so bad he fell backwards. Sirius' slate grey eyes fluttered open and locked with Darius forthwith.

"Get out."

And so this was the Animagus' response to his cousin's concern. Darius remained silent for a moment, his lips thinning into a straight line, trying to give Sirius his best 'well thanks a whole fucking lot' look. It wasn't very effective, however, and he stood silently, obedient to his cousin's command. Darius felt stupid just leaving the room without the slightest debate with Sirius. If Regulus were there, he would have stood up for him until Sirius would finally threaten to hex him. Then, they would run off together. Sometimes he just—

"I wish Regulus was here."

The words struck Sirius hard in the chest, oddly close to where his heart was. Although the words were murmured softly without the slightest hint of malice, he still searched for some kind of evidence of resentment on the younger man's face, but he seemed far too engrossed in brushing dust from his clothes with his hands, as if he hadn't even noticed he had uttered those words. Slowly the sudden blow and the dull ache dissolved into fury that flamed in him dangerously, the restrained anger he'd felt following his encounter of their trysts, anger meant for his brother.

Even after all that Regulus had surely forced Darius to do, Darius still favored him to Sirius. Sirius' hands balled into fists as he watched Darius cross the room in absolute silence like a scolded child. Sirius wouldn't stand for it, having him think of Regulus while he was right there.

Then there was a soft thud to the ground that caught his attention and there was a small vial of a cobalt liquid on the floor, its sharpness clashing with the soft dust on the carpet. He looked back up to see if Darius had noticed it, but he was already gone, his foot the last thing he saw.

---

It wasn't until he was all the way to his room when Darius realized the potion was missing. He had stepped into the room and rummaged his pockets for it so he could take his daily dosage, but it was gone, and he was sure he placed it in the pocket of his trousers so he could always have it on him when needed. He looked through all his things which was easy enough seeing that he hadn't unpacked but wasn't there. He searched downstairs for it and gave Remus a very vague description of what he was searching for, which of course ended fruitless. Then, after a good thirty, forty minutes, he concluded that it could be in only one place: Sirius' room.

He silently cursed his stupidity as he stood just around the corner of Sirius' bedroom, waiting for him to leave at some point. Time passed at a comfortlessly slow pace, every minute seeming to be twice in length.

"So, now you're spying on me?"

Darius' went rigid, his blood pounding in his ears as a small warning. Before he could crane his neck to glance over his shoulder, however, Sirius roughly turned him so they were face to face, and Darius soon found himself forced against the wall, Sirius' hands on either side of his head, blocking his chance to escape. Sirius was smirking down at him and Darius turned his head to the side, refusing to look at the other man as he spoke.

"I wasn't spying," he said, trying to muster as much courage as he could, but the lack of eye-contact didn't reinforce it. He was mortified at how childish he sounded.

Sirius gave a sharp cackle and Darius flinched when his fingers brushed over his lips, definitely an accident he concluded. "If you weren't spying, what were you looking for then? This perhaps?" And he produced the vial from his pocket and Darius gasped, his cheeks flushing slightly. He tried to snatch it back but Sirius pulled his arm back and then waved it tauntingly before him. "Now what, pray tell, is this?" Darius shivered, feeling Sirius' hot breath against his neck with each word. "Were you trying to poison me?"

The question brought Darius back to his senses and he instantly replied, "No!" though, maybe, he had said it a little too quickly for Sirius quirked an eyebrow suspiciously. But then Sirius laughed, loud and hearty and unbelievably bitter, and he was pressed further against the wall. "You're an awful liar, Ulrike," Sirius snarled with a sneer that didn't suit his face at all, "Always were." Darius opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by Sirius who continued speaking, his face softening slightly. "Y'know, Ulrike," his voice was husky as he leaned in closer to Darius, now dangerously close, "Y'know, I'm much better than that wussy brother of mine."

Darius jerked his head up, the shock and embarrassment clearly evident on his face. This, however, only made Sirius' smirk widen considerably. "I knew what you two used to do." Darius's eyes widened so that all the white around the grey iris could be seen. He flushed a darker shade as roughly padded fingers crept beneath his shirt.

Darius tried hard to fight the moan that threatened come forth, but those fingers prodded and pinched so nicely it escaped, although strangled. Sirius observed his reactions closely, curiously, trying to see what places affected him the most. And then he pulled himself back abruptly with a wince, his expression almost suffering.

The younger cracked open his left eye of which he did not remember closing. Sirius was panting just as hard as he was, yet was sweating much more, his soot black hair clinging to his face, blocking his view of his eyes. He looked as if he were remembering something, reliving something painful, but what struck him the most, though, was the conspicuous bulge between his cousin's legs, large even against the thick fabric of his trousers. And he did the first thing that came to his mind.

He slapped him.

The strike was hard, eliciting a sharp, echoing crack. He hit him directly on the cheek, the spot turning a dark pink against alabaster skin. Seconds after the slap, he cursed himself again for acting on impulse. It was the perfect scenario, getting impregnated by a drunk Sirius, and he went and blew it without thinking. He wouldn't remember it surely after drinking as much as he did and so he could go on without any guilt. But everything Sirius said, everything he did, it crawled Darius' skin unpleasantly, or rather, far _too_ pleasantly. He brought his hands to his mouth as Sirius gingerly caressed the scorching spot on his face.

"You don't want me, huh?"

Darius didn't respond, instead turning his head to the side.

Sirius snorted. "Fine. I didn't want you much either." A lie really, considering his dangerously hard arousal that pointed directly at Darius. "I bet you'd only scream Regulus' name, anyway." He narrowed his eyes. "Isn't it boring to call a dead man's name after coming? They can't call yours back." With that, he strode toward his bedroom and waved carelessly at him before shutting the door.

And this was when Darius' knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, then something cold tapped his ankle. He looked down and then smiled slightly.

The vial.

---

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Remus'eyes flicked open at the small sound that sliced so cleanly through the silence like a knife. As his vision gradually cleared, he expected to see his small black-and-white photo of his little brother when he was a child in front of the house they both grew up in, grinning cheerfully, waving wildly, his dimples making him even cuter, but instead he was greeted by the sight of an old, grey stove. He blinked.

"Shi—Shoot," he corrected himself quickly, sitting up, "Shoot, shoot, _shoot_." Ever since he had accidently blurted 'goddammit' in front of Mrs. Weasley after a rough night of trying to convince other werewolves to join the 'Light', he had never forgotten how he had to restrain the woman from barging into the Order meeting, waving a wooden spoon violently, just to give Dumbledore a piece of her mind on giving him that mission.

He pulled a pocket watch, the white face and sliver back littered with nicks, scratches, and scrapes, and the longest of the curly, ash grey hands amidst the wild flurry of smaller ones, and it was pointing just between 'Lunch' and 'Work', both written in thin, black, curly letters. He groaned. 'Work' meant another night of trying to convert werewolves of the 'Dark' to the 'Light' which was impossible seeing that they all weren't the brightest bunch and preferred to do as they wished which the 'Dark' side allowed them to do, as long as they did it under Voldemort's name. 'Work' was the very reason why he had fallen asleep in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. _"I know it is asking a little too much, Remus," _Dumbledore had said when the mission was first issued to him, _"But the more allies on our side—" _Remus knew already, but he still didn't like any more than he would have if he didn't know.

Tap. Tappity-tap.

"Well, aren't you going to answer it, Remus?"

Remus had almost forgotten the reason why he had awoken in the first place, and glanced to his right to see an owl outside the rectangular window just above the sink, looking quite sour at being forgotten. He then looked to his left and his heart sunk. Tonks smiled cheerily at him, though it was a bit strained.

"Ah—"

"I just came to see how you were. You weren't at home like usual, so I was worried," Tonks said. Remus only nodded in response, deciding to open the window for the poor owl, but Tonks beat him to it. "You're avoiding me," she said quietly, dejection evident on her face, making Remus feel more guilty than before.

"No, I'm not—"

"If it's what happened Sunday, I'm sorry, but I meant every word!"

"Tonks—"

"The kiss meant even more!"

"Nymphadora, _please_—"

"I told you that I don't care if you're a werewolf, Remus! I don't care if you're older than me! I still love you!"

"But it matters to _me_!"

Tonks was taken aback by the lycanthrope's sudden outburst, and took a step back.

Remus sighed and passed his hands through his honey-colored hair, flecked with grey. "I'm sorry, Tonks, I really am, but—but it wouldn't _work_. You just don't understand; I'm old, I'm tired, and I just want to see Voldemort defeated before I die. I haven't the time for intimate relationships, I no longer have the_ patience_ for them. It would be better off if the two of us never became anything more than close friends. Please." Harsh perhaps, but he said what he wanted to say for a long while, and it felt calming.

For Tonks, however, it had the opposite effect. Her cheeks flared a deep pink equal to that of her hair and her eyes were more luminous than before, surely with tears. But she only nodded and smiled weakly. "I–I understand," she said softly, but it was clear that she didn't. Then she turned to leave, brushing past him with a sniffle, seeing that her reason for being there was finished.

Remus sighed again and slumped against the sink, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is not what he wanted to deal with right before going to that horrid place, which would be in only a few minutes. A hoot sounded above him and he angrily forced open the window and wrenched the piece of parchment from the bird. The owl, Tton he learned the name was after seeing the name tag around its neck, gave an enraged hoot and ruffled its feathers before flying off in a huff. He had the sudden urge to apologize to it, really, even more after he realized the name Tton sounded familiar to him.

He looked at the folded parchment in his hand. On one of the sides 'Darius Black' was written in very cramped, squiggly cursive. He had the impulse to read it, but that would be wrong, reading someone else's mail. But then the handwriting was familiar to him as well, and it wouldn't hurt if he just read who the writer was. With that he unfolded the paper, but instead of going directly down to the signature, he was drawn to the opening.

_Dear Darius A.K.A. Sick Son of a Bitch,_

Blunt. Very, very blunt. So he continued.

_I've heard what you are planning to do my sick, sick best mate, and there is one thing I have to say to it. _

_That is totally fucking kinky._

_I mean, _Sirius_?! The murderer?! Dude, that is _the_ ultimate_ _kink! I mean, he must know some good stuff after being in prison with all those guys, but then is Azkaban different than Muggle prison, because I wouldn't know. _

_So, how was he in bed? How big is he? How thick? Good god, I wanna know! Is he better than Lucius?? If he is, let me get some! Ha Ha Ha! Kidding, kidding._

Remus blushed a deep shade of red.

_What I can't get is the fact that you want to get pregnant. Yeah, Uncle Severus told me all about your plan on getting impregnated by that guy, but why, man? You that desperate for a kid? You're only in your thirties, man. You still have some juice in you! Ha Ha Ha! _

Remus' stomach sunk.Darius was_ what_?

_And what are you going to do after you get pregnant, because this sounded like a big, secret thing. Are you going to tell him or does he already know? If not, how the hell are you going to hide it from him?! I think he'd notice that you were pregnant with that huge thing of flab you're going to get. Trust me. Guys like him would notice things like that, especially if it was like, five times the regular size, y'know? Hey, are you going to get man boobs, too?! I mean, I just wanna know, for, uh, if I decide to have kids of my own._

_Pfft. Yeah right._

_Anyway, let me let you go. Daniel asked me to dinner next Wednesday, and no, it is not a 'date', it's just another excuse for a shag, alright? I'm a slut, Darius, we don't _**_fall_**_ in love, we _**_make_**_ it!_

_Love,_

_Tavie_

_P.S. Ooh, Lucius is piiiiiiiissed. Maybe it's the pre-baby-having stress kinda thing, I dunno. Dammit, is everyone getting friggin pregnant??? Just thought you'd like to know. _

Remus stared at the letter in disbelief.

Darius was planning to use Sirius to get _pregnant_?

And _Sirius_. Bless that poor man's heart! Only a few years after he left Azkaban, and now he had to deal with this. He was already mentally unstable enough, but this going to tear him to shreds, especially if he actually fell in love with his cousin. He needed to get to the bottom of this, _now_. He glanced at his watch and quickly changed his mind as he made his way toward the fireplace.

Whatever he was planning to do would have to wait until morning, because he was already late to that hell hole.

---

**Chapter 3 End**

**---**

A/N: Reviews greatly appreciated!


	4. Revelations

**Of Truths**

Chapter 4: Revelations

_The attic._

_That's where he usually (always) hid when Regulus wasn't there to protect him. Huddled deep in the small space between two suitcases, facing the circular window, coated with dust and cobwebs which allowed only a few shafts of light to actually reach his toes. He hid there because he didn't want anyone to see him cry. He was a grown nine-year-old boy and if he cried, people (Sirius) could always get what they wanted from him, he was so vulnerable. Something he actually didn't gain from his mother, still sick in that run-down town, still in bed. Alive, but only alive._

_Auntie wouldn't allow him to see her, saying that she had enough of an influence on him as it was._

"_That's because she's his _mother_," Andromeda would whisper to Narcissa behind Auntie's back, always glancing meaningfully at him, and Narcissa had always agreed. He loved Andromeda, the sister he never had. She was the kind of person who would hand you sweets beneath the table after you were told to have none. She was the mother in replacement for the one who he was likely to lose, or, in truth, already had._

_But she wasn't here now. Wouldn't be until the eve of Christmas. As of now all he had was Auntie and Sirius and his little friends who would climb through the window of his bedroom. He knew how they got in, seen them plenty of times, but no matter how many times Auntie and Regulus asked he would never tell, for he had sworn to secrecy in return for the safety of his stash of savings he'd been salvaging for a visit to his mother. Of course Sirius had to use that against him._

_And Regulus just left him there, alone._

_He never returned on the train, wanting to spend the Yuletide hols in Hogwarts with his new friends. Auntie, oddly enough, was very understanding with this and had even said that that was a brilliant idea. "One day, you'll have friends like Regulus's too, and make me _so_ proud," she'd say, pinching his cheeks. He never understood why she loved Regulus' friends so much. She'd never met them, had she? _

_He hated this. He hated Sirius. He hated his friends. He hated Regulus. He hated his Aunt. He just hated _everything

_Darius clutched his robes tightly, giving a small whimper as fresh, hot tears streamed down his face again. Just when he'd gotten himself calmed down, his subconscious would remind him of how horrible his life was. Raised in a brothel, mother deathly sick, his Aunt not letting him see her, Regulus ignoring him, _Sirius_. He hadn't any friends to talk to, he hadn't _anyone_, save for a few portraits in his bedroom, but still. He was sobbing now, cradling himself, his head falling to the side of the suitcase a tad too hard, but he barely felt it. _

---

Darius was never one to ask for things. He'd been raised in what was a few notches above poverty. He and his mother lived poor, very poor, but they still had a roof over their heads, although it was cobwebbed and soiled, and they had enough meals to live on, though not enough for seconds. The brothel itself was rather extravagant — golds, emeralds, _sapphires_ — but only where the customers wandered. The living quarters of the 'ladies of pleasure' were rather below par to that of the moderately affluent, but Darius became able to call it home and feel truthful in his words.

Because of his raising he'd grown humble and quiet, the ability to feign happiness as natural as breathing to him. Yet he still knew how to flaunt what he had, his anonymous father's hair, his lips, his smile. A customer would never pay for a whore who cried before being penetrated, and he never did cry. Though he heard his mother being violated, though _he_ was violated, he never cried, didn't want to, couldn't want to. He still had his pride and his health no matter what happened, no matter what bruises or cuts he was awarded. His mother, however, was not as lucky.

Then he was thrust into a world polar to the one he knew. It was a world of silks and jewels and white: _wealth_.

His aunt drenched him with it: valuable robes, priceless shoes, and other luxurious things people like her had that still boggled Darius' mind. "When you get older," his mother had said as she tucked him into bed. Small, uncomfortable, but still a bed, "When you get older and become very, very rich, I want you to spend as much as you like on all of the birthdays and Yules that I couldn't get you presents for." Back then it sounded like a brilliant idea, back when he was still a small child and only recently introduced to the life a whore, but when he finally reached money he couldn't bring himself to do it, buy things for himself. He didn't want sympathy from others, or rather didn't want others to think he wanted sympathy.

Though this is true, just a week earlier Darius had not asked but_ begged_ Lucius for an additional week off, giving the man an excuse so awful it was not worth repeating. Yet, surprisingly enough, Lucius agreed without batting an eye, simply telling him he'd better be in his office first thing in the morning on the Monday after, or else. Darius didn't complain about that arrangement though, never really did.

The suitcases were still there, though he never realized how small the space between them was until he sat there for awhile, his back began to throb painfully and his foot so heavy with that pins and needles feeling it was twitching from time to time. Either way, he didn't plan to move any time soon and had stayed there for nearly the entire period he'd called off.

Molly had fretted about him the full seven days which was reason enough to stay where he was. She was a pleasant woman, and Darius liked being in her warm, motherly presence, but she asked far too many questions, so the best thing for him to do was to steer clear of her unless he wanted to blurt something that no one but he needed to know. Or worse, break down into tears.

Moreover, he would have never forgiven himself if he'd received any more sympathy than she'd already given. He'd hate himself if he'd brought someone into his worry, his self-hatred, because it was noone's concern but his own, and no one needed to drop their lives to drown in his little sea of problems: self-loathing, guilt, insecurity, melancholic memories and thoughts. No one needed to go through that but himself. He would never forgive himself, not the least bit. And if someone convinced just a bit to let it go, it would never perish entirely.

He'd barely slept that night just a week before. He'd sat there on the cold stone floor for a while, ecstatic that the potion was not in Sirius' possession, yet entirely bewildered and angry at what he'd done, ruining the most absolutely perfect scenario ever possible, but he destroyed it completely with that teeny moment of lack of self-control. He'd struck Sirius rather hard on the cheek, he could tell in that fleeting moment by the bright, almost purplish flush that had appeared, and the way his own hand stung a bit as well. And what Sirius had said, and Darius' response to it, Sirius would not think of going that far again, surely, because of what had happened. Why did he have to be so utterly asinine to do that?

He surely wasn't hiding from Sirius which was usually the reason why he'd slip into the attic, but he was avoiding him the best he could, and avoiding is not the same as hiding. Darius tried to lean backward, but then chose against when something dug into his sore back. He sighed and accepted the discomfort anyway, his eyes sweeping over the dust-coated antiques and such.

That night six days ago, Darius supposed he'd forgotten who he was.

He was Uldaricus Black, child of Lucetta Black and one of her customers, male whore extraordinaire. He knew how to bring a man off quickly by the age of seven and bends over for his boss, his _cousin_, on a daily basis. There was no way he could've panicked when Sirius just began to feel him up, but he did. He panicked like no cocotte would and had even struck his customer.

He acted on impulse once again, and once again damned himself for it, at the exact time wondering why he should even bother scolding himself if it was just going to happen again. Sometimes he wondered if he was a Black at all. Blacks were known for their self-control and pride, two of many other things, but Darius had neither, or rather a little of one and practically none of the other.

There was a sudden soft thud from downstairs, making Darius' heart jolt, beating hard and fast in his chest, and then the chorus of many shoes and soft conversations. It was the members of the Order, he'd concluded, all arriving for the meeting like Molly said they would. A tight smile captured his lips when he recalled something she had said to him earlier that week:

"_We would love to have you at the Order meetings, dear. There must be information that you have that could assist us!"_

He'd been close to laughing directly in her face. Rude, maybe, but it just seemed so downright hilarious for him that being rude didn't matter. He couldn't 'assist' the Order, no way, no _how_. He hadn't any information to give and there wasn't much else he could do to assist them, other than getting himself caught and killed by Death Eaters. He knew very few hexes, and they were surely not up to par with those of the Death Eaters, or the other members of the Order, for that matter. And he wasn't good at theories or coming to conclusions. If they wanted to think of some way to sneak in to You-Know-Who's hideout or whatever, he was definitely not the one to go to. He hadn't any talents that could help the Order at all; he was useless. Sad as it was, that wasn't a complaint. The fewer chances he had to being killed, the better.

The more he thought about it, though, the more pathetic he sounded.

Darius wiggled his foot a bit, trying to rid it of the numbness, unsure of what his next tactic was. Yet, he was also trying to find himself, although he was sure he wasn't entirely lost in the first place. What had happened was simply a slip of control and what had happened was never going to change, no matter how much he'd like it to. He was just going to have to find a way around that to get this finished with once and for all. Other than this, nothing was going to change once he was pregnant. Once he was impregnated, he was to leave directly for his old flat and raise the child on his own. Sirius would never be able to do anything about it because he was a wanted man of whom wasn't about to be let off any soon. He couldn't be seen, let alone try to gain custody of his child.

After he'd left, his only worry would be raising said child, of which would be a hassle, seeing that he shared partly Sirius' genes. At first he'd planned to have Narcissa assist him, and she was rather willing, but with the soon arrival of her next child that plan might have been scrapped seeing that she would have a child of her own to care for. And—

_What the hell was he going to do?_

---

"You _what_!?"

"It was just a dream, Moony! It can't amount to anything more than that!"

"But— but— dear _Merlin_, Padfoot, I don't even know you anymore!"

"It's not like I really fucked him or anything!"

Remus' face was stricken, the creases of old age more prominent in his features, making him look dreadfully older than he truly was, especially with the dark circles beneath his watery blue eyes. Sirius gave him a withering glare anyway, placing his head in his hand, silently regretting ever mentioning the dream to his friend. The dream was still fresh in his mind, though. Glossy soot black hair, crystallized silver-grey eyes, the man had goddamned _curves_, hips, lanky body, at least in his dream. He'd just grown bloody _gorgeous _he'd realised a hardened angel that still held its innocence. Very effeminate, yet not.

And he felt disgusted thinking about it, had vomited twice because of it, yet couldn't stop _remembering _it. He couldn't stop imagining just how brilliant his cousin would be in bed after seeing how experienced he was at nine. He just couldn't stop thinking of _Darius_.

"Pad? _Sirius_!"

Sirius' head jerked up toward his name, but instead of being greeted by angry Remus as he suspected, he looked more curious than anything, and perhaps even a bit . . . confused?

"Padfoot . . ."

"What?"

Remus bit at his bottom lip and turned back to the dishes in the sink, pushing up his dampened sleeve again to his forearm. He was trying desperately to find a way to word this question, but he couldn't think of how he could without revealing what he knew about Darius. If it was something that Sirius didn't want to hear (which Remus was quite sure it wasn't), he would go straight to the source and do the worst to him. And even more, it was possible that Remus misinterpreted the letter (though it was rather straightforward) and to put Darius through Sirius' wrath for nothing would be awful.

"Has . . . has Darius been acting weird these pass few days?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows and plopped his chin on to the table, reverting his gaze to the worn wood. "Weird? Hunh. If you mean Darius pissing his pants at the sight of me, that's not weird, that's— OI!" The Animagus spluttered and wiped the water from his face with his sleeve after Remus had hit him with the soaked dishtowel.

"That is _not _what I meant! I—" Remus paused and sighed. "Never mind. Just— Just forget it, Padfoot. And remember to ask Darius for Dumbledore."

Sirius' lips pursed, but then he sighed as well and slipped out of the chair.

And he _still _couldn't stop thinking about him.

---

"Oh . . . oh _fuck _Lucius!"

Fingers drew out of him quickly, too quickly, and Darius winced, but it was quickly replaced by eagerness, a groan escaping his throat as pressure was added to his hips. This was how he was used to being, bent over a desk, bare from the waist down in complete submission to another's wishes and lusts, just waiting to be fucked and used and whatever else the person wanted him to be. This, as awkward as it was, was his comfort, his sanctuary, and his body was humming happily just being away from Sirius and Grimmauld; away from the past.

He felt Lucius lower himself, his chest against his back, his chin resting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. This was as close to love as Lucius would give him, teeth nipping his neck, tongue lapping up the sweat that gathered at his chin, and he felt that he would like to die in his arms, they so familiar whether they're causing pain or pleasure. Familiarity kept him together, kept him at peace.

"Whore," Lucius whispered, cupping the twin globes of Darius' pale arse, they pliable and soft, curving against his palms perfectly, and then pulled them apart. Darius embraced the comment with a nearly silent 'yes', it an insult or compliment he couldn't care less. The head of Lucius' cock, thick and hard, hot and moist, nudged against that tight ring of muscle, tearing a gasp from Darius' dry throat, his tongue heavy, his entire mouth dry after having it agape from quite some time.

_Lucius . . ._

It was all he could think about, but then Lucius thrust into him hard, obnoxiously, painfully, hard, and his mind was reduced to a barren plain. The pain was searing, his hand instinctively grasping the corner of the desk in time with his cry. He could have sworn that he felt the skin of his palm break against the polished wood, hot yet cooling blood slipping down in-between his fingers, but it could have simply been sweat.

He moved his hand to brace himself better against the onslaught of barely human thrusts, the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh echoing throughout the room, slowly picking up speed. He could vaguely hear Lucius' mouth beside him giving long, hoarse groans, feel his fingernails digging into his thighs. Darius found himself babbling praises and encouragements to the man, just as any whore knew to do. The pain was still there, still as fresh as it had started, but it was another thing Darius was used to. Lucius only cared so much.

"Filthy bloody slut," Lucius mumbled, clutching the thick raven hair and harshly jerking the younger's head towards him and whispered in his ear, "Worth nothing more than a good fuck, aren't you? Lucetta taught you well."

"Yes . . . _ow_."

"I even turned Rossi down until I was in your arse again."

"_Lucius _. . ."

"You—"

"Yes, _yes_! I'm your filthy bloody slut, I _know_! Just don't fucking _stop_!"

Oh Merlin, had he said that aloud?

In response, Darius cheek was forced down against the table, Lucius' thrusts becoming even more savage, his grunts and groans becoming louder, clearly expressing how this new side of his baby cousin brought him to the edge. Really, that's all a whore could ask for, their customer's enjoyment. Even at their own expense. As Darius stared at Lucius' inkpot, relishing the sharp crack it made when it disappeared over the edge of the desk and shattered against the floor, he realised, remembered rather, that that was all he cared about, how others felt, never himself, never was in the place to think otherwise. Yet he didn't care much as long as he was being _fucked_.

_Lucius, Lucius, _Lucius

His fist moved jerkily on his cock at the thought, eyes fluttering as he desperately tried to reach release. And he was so close, his senses on fire, he able to feel the sweat beading on his eyebrows, slowly crawling down the sides of his face in rivulets, the sweat from Lucius' chest dripping onto his back, pooling near his shoulder blades. He could feel that knot tightening almost painfully in the pit of his stomach —

Orgasm was upon him within a few short pulls of his erection, before he could comprehend it, before he was ready. His body went rigid as the waves wracked his body, making joints involuntarily twitch, a sharp gasp escaping his throat, as well as a name when Lucius released his hair and his head hit the desktop with a thump. His breathing was ragged as he lowered from his high, his mind focussing gradually. Vaguely realising that Lucius had pulled out of him, he drowsily craned his head backwards to the man whose eyes were boring through him, icy, calculating.

"Lucius—"

"You may leave now, Black," Lucius said simply, his gaze finally averting to his robes.

There was an awkward silence as Darius returned Lucius' indifferent stare with that of shock, attempting desperately to gather what the man had said, and his reasons for saying it.

"Pardon?"

"_You_. _May_. _Leave_." The words were urgent, the only part of his demeanour that indicated that he was on the verge of losing his composure. They alone were all that was needed to press Darius to straighten himself out, arising from the desk silently, eyes downcast, avoiding Lucius' gaze as if berated by him, tugging up his trousers with a flush in this embarrassing situation.

And, as soon as he strode through the door, he realised that Lucius hadn't even came.

---

"Well if it isn't the man of the hour."

Octavius grinned brightly at him, trying his best to look as happy and as awake as he could, but was failing miserably, he knew he was. He prodded his eye with his friend until it gave a dull ache, just to keep himself conscious. Octavius had panicked after Darius didn't return to work without a single notice, thinking that maybe his murderer cousin had down something awful to him. But that wasn't the only reason as to why he hadn't gotten the sleep that his body required. No, Daniel had to be in his bed every night since his wife was out of the country. Octavius had wondered what Daniel had done about the children (the eldest was only six, wasn't he?) but he never answered him.

He realised that Darius looked horrible, his clothes dishevelled and hair mussed. Really, that wasn't surprising seeing he'd just left Lucius' office, but then his eyes were watery, his face taking a dull flush, though his face still held an indifferent expression otherwise. His eyebrows creased. "What's up, Darius?" He glanced at the office door and said in a low voice, "Did that cousin of yours do something? Because I swear, if he did—"

Darius smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, no. I just have to go to the loo."

Before Octavius could point out that he was definitely telling a lie, Lucius' door opened slightly and the blond poked his head out. "Rossi. My office. Now." Then the door slammed, making Darius flinch before rushing off.

---

Darius stared coldly at his reflection, hating himself a little bit more with each passing second. He was actually _crying_, after years and years of gritting his teeth and swallowing his pride, just for people to see that he was fine, but then the incident with Lucius crushed things and Octavius had nearly caught him. He sniffled and wiped furiously at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, hating the slick feeling of tears on his face. He finally realised what had happened back in Lucius' office.

He wasn't thinking about Lucius, he was thinking about _Sirius_. It was his name on his lips, not Lucius'.

He gave a wail and sank to his knees, shielding his face with his hands, so wound with grief he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He hadn't cried so hard in years, not since he found Regulus was dead, killed by his fellow Death Eaters, murdered, _murdered_. And he was so naïve, he didn't know, didn't realise how much pain he was going through, how much he needed him. _He wasn't there_. He wasn't there by Regulus side. He'd failed him, much like he'd failed his mother. She'd died alone in that brothel, and he wasn't there when she needed him most.

Then, Auntie.

He hadn't even known until three months after. They were afraid to tell him, afraid that he might have taken his own life. And many times he wondered why he hadn't. He'd lost all that meant anything to him, all that mattered: his 'brother' and his mothers. He was left with no one to turn to, had nothing to turn to, barely made a living on what he made then. He sobbed loudly, his mind flashing images of the worst aspects of his life.

He didn't have anything.

"You still in here, Dari—"

Darius rubbed his face wildly and stood abruptly, but Octavius had already seen, his black eyes wide in shock before switching to saddened, his lips curving downward. It was perhaps the most suffering expression he'd ever seen cross the younger man's face. There was an awkward moment as Octavius stepped in and silently closed the door behind him.

"Hey . . . "

Darius rearranged his robes on his shoulders. "Sorry, do you have to go? I'll just lea—" Octavius pressed himself against the door, preventing the elder from exiting, his face creased in concern.

"What's up with you, Darius?"

"Nothi—"

"Don't give me that shit!" Darius flinched, his eyes still trained to the flaking paint on the door, and Octavius immediately regretted raising his voice. He sighed and stepped closer, now realising just how short he was to Darius. "Look, Darius, I hate seeing you like this. Would you just tell me what's—"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm tired of hearing that! I just—" He bit his lip before tentatively hugging him, pulling him close. Darius' breath hitched, a faint blush rising on his cheeks, but he found himself snuggling into the embrace, sobbing loudly into the crook of Octavius' neck, then broke out into his story. Octavius ran his fingers through his hair the entire time. When the elder had concluded, it was followed by an awkward silence.

" . . . Blimey. Just when I thought my life was shitty."

Darius laughed lightly and wiped his eyes. "Yeah, well."

Octavius' expression turned serious once more. "But remember this: you're like a big brother to me, Darie. Things like this I need to know, 'kay? And if you tell _anyone _about this little 'moment' we had here, I _swear_—"

Darius my have had nothing, no one to depend on, but he had someone depended on him, and that was just as good.

Darius smiled. "Sure thing, Tavie."

Though his mood was uplifted, Sirius still tugged at the corner of his mind and he decided that he hated him even _more_.

---

"_Sirius?"_

_That's when he noticed the hand being waved in front of his face and blinked stupidly, both his mind and vision clearing so that he was able to detect that all eyes of the Order were on him and he closed his legs uncomfortably albeit his arousal was hidden by his robes and the table. "Huh?" he blurted a bit too loud, for a snort rose from his right; Severus of course, attempting to hide it behind the back of his hand. _

"_It would be nice if you would actually pretended to be interested, Black. At the very least when a something is asked of you," he said smugly, not in undertone as Sirius had wished, prayed, but loud enough for everyone at the dining table, save for Dumbledore who was conveniently oblivious of the comment._

_Remus gave Sirius a small look of worry as he lowered his hand, his forehead creasing, eyebrows furrowing, after he'd flashed Severus a glower with a respectable amount of hatred. "I'm sorry," Sirius said, eyes still hard against Severus', albeit his lips were twisted into a tight smile, "What was 'asked of me'?" The phrase was not in his vocabulary and even Tonks gave a small smile from her place beside Remus. Severus rolled his eyes and turned his head away as if nettled by his immaturity, which, perhaps, he was._

"_I was simply wondering if Darius might be able to join us for the next Order meeting," Albus said calmly from head of the table._

_Sirius perked up at his cousin's name. "Darius?" he said in the same dense tone as he had when he first heard the name four days ago, and Remus' expression seemed crossed between wanting to slap him or himself._

_Albus only smiled, however. "He has arrived already, hasn't he?"_

_There was silence, and then, "Yeah." _Sirius slumped in his seat, the cushion giving a loud, airy _fwoosh_. _"Yeah, I'll ask him."_

---

"You're home."

Darius gave a small smile, strained from exhaustion, having only just returned from work in the wee hours of the morning. He'd also stopped at the grocery as he'd stated he would, hauling a little under a dozen of the plastic bags with him. "I'm afraid I can't tell whether you are glad or disappointed," he said venomously, his forced smile twitching ever so slightly at the corners.

Sirius frowned and surprisingly reverted the conversation to the grocery bags Darius held. "Do you want some help with those?" he asked, though it was a bit hesitant, as if he wasn't sure what to say. Despite this, however, he was already gathering them from Darius' left hand, untangling the handles from his finger when needed, and Darius didn't stop him, silently appreciating the relief of his burden. They did this without a word, making their way to the kitchen. Sirius couldn't keep his eye off him, though, as he placed the bags on the counter, slipping off his robes and draping it on the back of one of the dining chairs.

"Is something wrong?" Darius' voice was heavily laden with fatigue and Sirius felt a tinge of fear that the younger man was going to collapse at any second.

Sirius smiled slightly. "Just admiring how different you look from what I remember."

Darius turned his head and fished through a bag. "That wasn't funny."

Sirius made a cautious step toward him. "I wasn't joking."

The younger twisted his neck, just enough to see Sirius, his grey eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I think I can take care of this myself, thank you. You can go back to bed."

Sirius didn't move from where he stood, instead wringing his hands together nervously. "Right. Well, uh, Remus wants to know how you are. You've been absent a lot recently, and— "

"Tell him he needn't worry."

"Also," Sirius continued, "Dumbledore wants to know if— "

"I'd rather not."

"You don't even have any idea what I'm talking about!"

"I do actually. I really don't care to become one of the Order." He made to take out a jar, but was stopped by Sirius' hand encircling his wrist. He hadn't even heard his cousin near him and it troubled him horribly. Darius tried to tug his hand back, but he failed to escape from the restraint. "Don't touch me."

Sirius leaned in further despite this, and blurted, "But you would let _him _touch you, wouldn't you?"

Darius' body went ridged and he glared at him, his eyes glistening madly. "Excuse me?" he growled, not attempting to hide the venom that dripped from his words.

Sirius silently damned himself for the slip but returned the glare ten-fold. "You would prefer Regulus to fuck that arse of yours, huh?" he hissed, shoving the younger man back. "That's all he was good for, right?" He'd broken the little peace that was between them, but he felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

"Don't you ever, _ever _talk about Regulus that way," Darius hissed darkly, dropping all that was in his hand carelessly, the jar clanking against the tabletop. Sirius had never seen, or even imagined him look so savage, his dark hair wild, his grey eyes glittering brightly in the light, the wand pointing at Sirius at him trembling, his steps toward him shaky with rage. He should have backed down then, before he finally received what he deserved after that long year of torture. But he didn't, that glass of rum from earlier strengthening his spirit but leaving his resolve to dwindle.

So instead he smirked smugly and took a step of his own forward, swaggering ever so slightly. "I can talk about the little shit however I'd like, _Uldaricus_. He's my brother, not yours." Darius' nostrils flared. "And besides, he went a got himself killed by his little Death Eater friends. Talking about him really is just a waste of everyone's breath."

Darius felt a rush of adrenalin as he slammed himself against his cousin and knocked the older man to te floor, proud though Sirius' foot hooked on his ankle and he tumbled down as well. They struggled indefinitely, clawing and biting at cloth, flesh, leaving nasty bruises and gashes, and tore each other's robes viciously, Darius' thrown to the side, his wand skittering away. It was just a simple tussle to Sirius at first, that was until he felt a pressure wrapping itself around his throat. He attempted to gasp, gripping his cousin's forearms, but he choked instead when the fingers tightened around his windpipe.

"_I hate you_," Darius snarled, pellucid tears streaming down his pale cheeks, curving to his chin, dripping onto his hands that secured his cousin's throat, "I hate you so much! At least Regulus gave a shit! At least he— he—"

"He fucking molested you!" Sirius wheezed, but quickly regretted it, his oxygen cut off once again.

"Shut up! You know nothing! NOTHING!"

_CRASH_

The sound frightened Darius to the very bone, his hands unleashing Sirius for a brief moment, but that was all that the elder needed to gain control of the situation. Sirius bucked the smaller off, he spilling backward onto the marble flooring. Before he could groan, Sirius had him pinned to the floor by his wrists, straddling him. "You little shit! You—"

"Get the fuck off of me!"

Sirius' hands grasped Darius' chin roughly and jerked it upward. "Just calm the fuck down!" Darius still glared angrily at him, but gradually his chest began to rise and fall at a slow, unfaltering rate, and his face melted to its normal alabaster. He looked like hell, his soot black hair splayed around his face, plastered to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat caused by their little struggle, and—

They glowered menacingly at each other, Sirius bearing his teeth ferally and Darius's nose wrinkling lethally. However, Sirius saw something odd glitter in Darius' narrowed silver eyes, something deep, something familiar yet he couldn't quite place it as of then. His breath hitched in his throat and he could feel Darius' heartbeat steadily increase in his chest.

"I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"Why are you such a prick?"

"Why are you even here!?"

Darius gave a small growl, but Sirius silenced him with his lips, unable to control himself, clutching his chin harder.

---

End Chapter 4

---

A/N: Reviews greatly appreciated.


	5. Lust

**A/N**: Well, this perhaps is the fastest I've ever updated! Fourteen pages! I'm so proud of myself! I would like to thank **KiaraNxiar **for the wonderful review on It really strived me to finish this chapter faster!

I'm also working another more Remus-centric story. Remus/OMC of course. I just feel that there aren't enough OMCs in the world. But, there is some het. Canon het and Remus/OFC het.

By the way, since someone emailed me on it, 'Uldaricus' is Latin for 'Ulrike', which is why Sirius also referred to him as Ulrike. I chose this name because it was different and was similar to Darius. Also, I realise that Severus has an enormous family (_two _pairs of triplets! Good _God_, Septimus!) And I am also writing a story to explain that. Triste (Octavius' mother), Septimus, and Severin are actually Severus' elder half-siblings.

* * *

**Of Truths**

Chapter 5: Lust

"_Why do _I _have to do it? Regulus is more—"_

_Luciana turned abruptly, her expression lethal, red lips curled into a feral snarl. "Regulus is not spending Yule with us. You are doing it because I said so!"_

_Of course Regulus wasn't spending Yule with them, he was too busy with his Death Eater friends. He pitied him before, but now he just failed to. Sirius snorted, folding his arms, and growled, "You don't control me—" He was silenced by long fingers clutching his forearm in a deathly tight grip and the wand jabbed into his cheek, knocking painfully into a molar. _

"_I know hexes you've never even heard of, boy," his mother hissed, her face closing in on Sirius', and he had to admit he'd never seen her so savage, "You damned well better listen to me now, because I'm going to say this only once, you hear? I _hate _you." The comment stung just a bit and Sirius' eyes widened beneath his mother who seemed much taller and powerful than him. "You are _lucky _that I keep you under this roof. An embarrassment to this family, you are, but at least Uldaricus knows his place." The wand was pushed further and Sirius could feel his skin break from the pressure of his mother's nails delving into his arm. "You ever touch that boy again I will not hesitate to use an Unforgivable on you, you understand? Now get your arse in there and patch him up, this damn _instant."

_She forced Sirius back and he staggered a bit until he regained his balance, his left hand reaching up to his right arm to where Luciana held him, panting audibly. He glanced up to his mother with wide eyes, in disbelief, but she only glared unrelentingly. Something warm slipped down his cheek, stopping at the corner of his mouth, slipping into the crease between his two lips, and his tongue peeked out and swiped the saline liquid, his body trembling as he deciphered what it was._

_He was _crying

_Luciana looked victorious at the discovery and sneered before turning on her heel, the metal clacking tauntingly on the beryl green stone flooring. The sway of her hips, the fluttering of her burgundy robes, it was all to taunt him, make fun of him. "He's taking a bath," she said as she departed further down the hall toward the library._

_Sirius sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes. "Bitch!" he yelled out behind her, but she only gave a cruel, feminine laugh, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk on her lips. _

"_You better get in there boy."_

_Then she was gone, turning right and going down another hall. Fresh tears streamed down both sides of his face, his eyes blinking at the slight burn that he ended with, but he turned and went the opposite direction, heading toward Uldaricus._

---

Sirius breached Darius' mouth and curled his tongue wildly around all he could touch, tongue, lips, teeth, savouring the soft traces of coffee that still coated his cousin's mouth for that was the first and possibly last time would be able to plunder his mouth, feel him, experience him entirely. Darius himself was still unsure of what to do, push Sirius off or tear at his robes, and he remained still and rigid beneath him, letting the elder devour him while he desperately tried to sort out the rampaging confusion of thoughts and emotions that meshed in his mind.

Sirius' tongue, though, oddly inexperienced most likely from his long stay in Azkaban, felt rather _good _as it stroked messily behind his ears and down his neck. His touch was different from that incident those days ago. They seemed eager and sincere and Darius had never felt anything like it, not with that intensity.

A small yet open-mouth kiss was pressed against the nape of his neck, and Sirius nuzzled the spot and breathed in Darius scent, finally calming from his possessed state. His hands, however, still moved albeit at a slower pace, unbuttoning the younger's shirt, lazily stroking his chest. He expected to feel the sharp slap of his hand against his face, or perhaps a punch to leave a bruise, anything expressing how disgusted Darius was. He hesitated and hastily pulled himself off of him, refusing to look at the younger's face, too ashamed of himself. He hated him even more, he should, rightfully so. He'd just forced him, forced himself on him. He was a sick, sick, _sick_—

"Kiss me."

Sirius flinched and stared down with wide eyes at his cousin. Darius smiled his best, no teeth but a slight curve of lips, and Sirius decided that he was gorgeous like that, hair tussled and lips candy red, cheeks flushed and his shoulder bare, his shirt collar pushed low to expose just a bit of clavicle. And he was _hard_, his baby cousin, a noticeable tent in his trousers. "W-what?"

Darius shyly? flashed a bit of teeth, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "Kiss me," he whispered sensually, the only thing expressing his confidence, "Kiss me again." His sureness sent tingles down Sirius' spine and he was positive the man was a god in what he did, not that he was incertain the slightest before. It was just an affirmation of what he saw and knew, and the truth drew him in, drew him in to press his lips against those petal-soft ones, and he groaned as that pink tongue passed them to meet his that eagerly curled with it.

He felt the smile against his skin as Darius began to undo the buttons of Sirius' haggard robes, tugging them off slowly, his fingers scorching Sirius' skin when contact was made. "I want you so badly," Sirius whispered hoarsely, breaking the kiss, tossing his robes to the side along with Darius', "I've always wanted you, for so fucking _long_."

Darius paused from sweeping kisses along his jawbone, but kept his lips crushed against it as he said, "Tell me, how did you know?"

Sirius gave that pale shoulder a kiss, probing his mind for any memories of seduction that Azkaban might have hidden. "Know what?"

Darius paused again, but for a longer period, before drawing Sirius down against him. "Hm," he hummed, his fingers working on the zipper of Sirius' dark y-fronts. But the groan that followed he'd grasped his cousin's erection did not please him the slightest, not when that same voice uttered those horrid words that haunted him:

"_Isn't it boring to call a dead man's name after coming? They can't call yours back." _

He hasn't—would _never_—how did he—_damn_ _him_.

"Who's room?"

"Yours?"

---

Darius was doing this for the sake of Auntie and the continuation of the Black family. If it wasn't for that he would have ever thought of degrading himself as he was, letting Sirius, _Sirius_, ram into him as he was, the force of his thrusts threatening to smash his skull against the foot of the bed if Darius didn't find a way to anchor himself. He gripped the polished wood as solidly as possible without breaking any nails to the skin. It hurt, yet it hurt so _good _as he dove in and out of him at a maddening pace, his balls slapping his thighs almost as loud as the bed groaned beneath them.

"Shit shit shit shit _shit_!" Every time the word was repeated in Sirius' hoarse chant above him it rose ever so slightly in pitch, and was often cut into by gasps and grunts. Really, at the current moment Sirius couldn't give one of his 'shit's to whether Darius was enjoying himself or not.

Darius' foot flexed behind Sirius' thick, dishevelled hair when he gave a particularly rough thrust that shoved the headboard against the wall behind Sirius with a large thump. Sirius murmured something unintelligible as his eyes remained fixated at the way Darius slim hips (he really needed to eat more; he looked too thin) gyrated in time with his thrusts, and it was so unbelievably _tight _in his baby cousin, his velvety walls surrounding him so pleasantly.

He felt jealous of Regulus, there in heaven or hell or wherever the hell he was, for being able to experience that tight heat every day since the age of fourteen. And Darius was making the most delicious expressions and noises, his teeth sinking into his swollen bottom lip, humming his approval in his throat.

"Mmm . . . Sirius . . .!" Scream his name, beg for 'more' and 'faster' and 'harder' and 'fuck me', and he'll move faster, come faster, so Darius could get this over with faster. "Fuck me, yes, _yes_!"

And sure enough, Sirius gave a sharp intake of breath that melted into a moan, slamming in once more before going rigid. The look of bliss that crossed his face seemed almost painful, lips pulled back in a grimace of sorts, and he could only compare it to that of a teenage boy undergoing his first climax. It would be a rather unkept and morose looking boy, yes, but a boy nonetheless, eyes becoming bright and cloudy when that tingling pleasure elicited crisp white stars behind them. He couldn't help but heave a deep sigh, not quite of irritation, yet not quite of relief, as Sirius sank down upon him, his breath foul and spiced with brandy.

Darius knew at once that Sirius wasn't even going to attempt to bring him off when he slid out slowly (but not slow enough and Darius winced), gently moved Darius' leg from his shoulder, and slumped on top of his smaller body once again, bearing a sated lopsided grin. The younger tipped Sirius' open mouth to the side by the chin with his forefinger _(Really, the man has absolutely _no _consideration . . ._), and he finally realised just how very hot it was, their skins flush against each other. He was tempted to just up and leave Grimmauld itself, he was pregnant, Sirius was no longer any use to him, but he was far too tired, his eyes already heavy and ready for post-sex sleep, no matter whether he had came or not.

And in truth, he couldn't quite _move_, Sirius' limbs intertwined so intricately with his, hot, sweaty, his thighs slick with Sirius' spunk, his cousin's gaunt hands tugging none too gently in his hair. He couldn't quite breathe let alone move.

Yet . . . yet Sirius' embrace was rather comforting, like cuddling a dishevelled dog or being cuddled like a child's favourite teddy bear. And it didn't feel too bad to have Sirius nuzzling his neck, his facial hair scratching his neck quite nicely. The simple rhythm of it all lulled Darius into an unworried slumber.

---

_He didn't even take care to knock at the door before entering, he was far too angry to even care. He simply threw the door open, eliciting a small cry from the inhabitant. He took a single step in and slammed the door behind him, eyes narrowing at the horrified boy inside of the bathtub. Uldaricus' grey eyes were full as he looked up at him in his fetal position, his head resting on his knees, a long reddish slash along his left cheek. He didn't look wet the slightest from above the waist, save for his hair that fell over his eyes that began to water, and he was visibly shivering as if he'd been outside in the snow that was falling._

_Sirius' eyes widened at the quaking of the lad's legs in the thinly reddened water, additional cuts along his body giving off little spirals of blood that dissipated in the water. "You—You _idiot_! Get out of there!" The boy didn't move for a second but then began to slowly rise from the icy water, frustratingly slow, and before he could stop himself, Sirius was pulling him out by his underarms, his body quivering like a leaf caught in a rainstorm. Uldaricus staggered somewhat when his feet touched stone and then took refuge in Sirius' chest, grasping his shirt for dear life with his good hand, his broken arm in a makeshift cast, no matter what happened earlier, and the elder could not do anything but leave him there, supporting a person in peril one of the many weaknesses of every Gryffindor._

"_Idiot," he repeated, his hand instinctively going to the younger's hair, his Muggle tee shirt clinging to his body where his tears soaked through, "What the hell were you thinking taking a cold bath in December? Were you trying to get hypothermi—"_

"_I'm sorry," Uldaricus said softly, his voice muffled by his cousin's shirt, "I tried to get out of the attic without Auntie noticing. I tried hiding it behind my back, but she wouldn't let me go up the stairs until I showed it to her and she pulled it from behind me." So that's what he was trying to do. Sirius and James had tried to keep him in the attic when he stumbled toward the exit after they'd pulled him out from under some suitcases and statues, thinking he was going to tell his mother, trying to find a spell to heal the arm before she could find out. _

_It was a simple plan really. Uldaricus seemed rather attached to the attic and was often up there when Regulus was gone, and all they had to do was charm a metre long rubber snake James had bought from his Muggle cousin and scare the shit out of the child. Simple._

_But it had ended disastrously. Uldaricus had just gotten up there and was walking toward the window when James released the snake, Peter making an impressive impersonation of a snake's hiss. It was brilliantly perfect; the snake slithering up behind him, Peter giving a hiss with each curve, and Uldaricus froze and glanced behind him slowly. He didn't scream as they had hoped, but whimpered loudly, taking an unsteady step back, his heel not touching the ground but landing directly on the edge of a suitcase and he stumbled backward, his head hitting the base of a statue which fell directly upon him, along with a horde of suitcases and busts that it was holding up, the deafening sounds covering the lad's small cry._

"_Shit!" James squalled, popping up from behind the small wall of cases the three had made, springing over it with Peter following close behind. Sirius only stood as they began to uncover Uldaricus, too petrified to move, his blood frozen in his veins, his heart trying furiously to keep the blood flowing even in its state. James paused and looked up at him, his expression seeming wild, his glasses askew and his hair falling haphazardly on his sweaty forehead, "Why the fuck are you just standing there, Padfoot?! Help us dammit!" _

_Sirius pulled himself together and stepped forward and helped Peter lift a bust of his uncle, but then James reached Uldaricus before them, drawing him out from the remaining objects and cradling him gently in his arms. Sirius dropped whatever he was holding then and looked at Uldaricus in silent terror. He looked unconscious, James slapping his uninjured cheek to rouse him, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest the only thing that signalled that he was alive. Upon his other cheek, however, was a rather long slice, blood slowly trickling down to the lad's lips, but it wasn't jagged the slightest like one would have expected. It was a clean, straight slit as if cut by a blade._

"_It was this one, I think," Peter said behind him, reading his mind, trying his best to haul up the first statue that Uldaricus had knocked into: a stone griffin with a razor-sharp beak and talons, surely able to be used as a weapon with those alone other than its weight. _

"_Who cares what the hell did it? He's bleeding all the same!" James yelled, ripping the bottom of his shirt and wrapping it around Uldaricus' right arm which Sirius now noticed was limp and bloodied, "Look through those books and find a damn spell to fix broken arms, or at least stop the bleeding!" Peter went straight for the jump, moving to the opposite wall and searched through the shelves of books that were there, but Sirius couldn't tear himself away from James and Uldaricus, especially after Uldaricus became aware of his surroundings, and even more the pains about his body._

_James looked positively ecstatic, his face breaking into a grin. "Attaboy," he said. Uldaricus let out a small wail, and James promptly covered his mouth. "Shh. _Shh_. C'mon, don't cry. I know, it hurts. Shh, it's all right." Sirius could see tears flowing down the nine-year-old's cheeks, his small whimpers still heard, albeit muffled by James' hand, and then, seeing that that tactic wasn't working, James held him closer and did something that Sirius would have ever thought him to do._

_He sang._

_He sang low and nearly inaudible, but he was still _singing_. It was a lullaby, like the ones his mother used to sing to Regulus when he was just a baby, all about how things were good and how much he was loved. James' voice was hoarse, cracking ever so slightly as he tried to sing_ _without being heard, yet still _heard_, but it was still pleasant all the same. Uldaricus' eyes widened, just as wide as Sirius' were, and he seemed to settle down, the wild muffling from before no longer._

_James made an excellent older brother, he did, albeit he had only an elder sister. Sirius couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as James held Uldaricus close, rocking him gently, stopping his crying so easily. He was never able to do that, because he had never treated anyone as an older brother would, seeing that he paid more attention to his own wants and doing the opposite of what his mother wished. It was too late to change, though: Regulus was too far gone and Uldaricus couldn't stand being in the same room with him without Luciana, Regulus, or Andromeda and Narcissa. _

_And he felt it then, the jealousy, the anger, the _guilt_, as Uldaricus clung to his abdomen, so desperately in need of love he went to the person he hated the most, and Sirius hadn't a clue what to do other than pat his head clumsily. There were no words he could say because they always came out wrong, and no song he could sing because he knew none. That's when he remembered the boy's threat of hypothermia, his thighs quivering against his own clothed ones, and he pushed him away, not harshly, just so that he was out of the way as he reached for a towel hung neatly by the mirror to his left. Uldaricus said nothing as the towel was wrapped around his shoulders, covering everything above the waist, but nothing below. Sirius didn't dare to wander below this point, though he wished to for the oddest reason. He shuddered at his thoughts. He sounded like the perverted old man who lived next door to Remus._

_He directed the boy through the door at the left as well, behind him, hands on his shoulders, into his bedroom. Sirius took care to examine the dark room, this being his first, and perhaps last, time ever stepping foot inside. It seemed rather simple, or as simple as a Black bedchamber could be: stone walls painted white especially for Uldaricus, a large mirror to the right, opposite of the main entrance, not the bathroom entrance, reaching from floor to ceiling, a rosewood dresser painted black, a green armchair beside the bed, the floor was beryl green as the rest of the house, and his bed was a king, clothed with emerald green sheets, pillows, and quilt that bore the Black crest, just like any bed in Grimmauld, save for Sirius' which were a deep, taunting, _rebellious _red. _

"_Go by the bed," Sirius ordered a bit too coldly and commanding, going towards the dresser beside the bathroom entrance without turning on a light, fishing out basic underwear, dark socks, and light blue nightclothes, something he most likely brought with him when he first arrived. He tossed them to Uldaricus who caught them easily, silently. "You need to get thicker clothes, y'know—" he turned his head slightly to see him and was greeted head-on by Uldaricus' crotch, his cock bobbing as he slipped his legs into his underwear, snow white in contrast to the dark space, only some shafts of the light of the crescent moon outside lighting very little, shadows of the snow that fell clearly visible. He blinked and got a good glimpse of it anew before it was covered by cotton. _

_Dear_ Merlin_, he was already growing _pubic _hair._

_In truth, it didn't look like it was 'already growing', it looked more like it already _had _for quite some time. He noticed the dark hair on his chest, the fine hair on his arms and legs, and his neatly trimmed, not shaven, underarms then, startled. He even knew how to take care of it. He himself had reached puberty when he was twelve, a year earlier than any Gryffindor in his year. Luciana thought _he _had gotten it early, but wait until she saw _Uldaricus

_He must have been staring for quite awhile, because he barely noticed Uldaricus staring back, fully clothed and curious. He shook his head slightly and smiled bitterly to himself before saying, "Don't just stare at me, get into bed." The last he checked it was eleven o'clock at night, so the best thing to do would be to just send him to bed until Luciana came. Uldaricus obeyed and climbed on his bed and snuggled under the covers as Sirius walked to the side of the bed and took a seat in his armchair. She would be there any second and might have thought Uldaricus had done everything by himself if he'd left. He sighed and kneaded his eye, it heavy from weariness, wondering where the hell his mother _was

_He opened his untouched eye to the bed and Uldaricus was looking directly at him, looking absolutely wide awake. "Go to sleep, Ulrike," Sirius said gruffly, slumping further into the chair, closing his eyes. Uldaricus must have rolled over from the rustling of the covers that he heard. He drifted to sleep within the next few minutes, tired, stressed,_ pissed.

---

Sirius wearily opened his eyes to the first honey-coloured shafts of sunlight that streamed through the billowing curtains of the large windows, conveying the possibility of a gorgeous summer day. He groaned at the sharp throbbing of his temple, a sure sign that he'd been drinking the evening before which wasn't very unlikely.

He dismissed it lightly, however, as well as his odd state of dress, and snuggled more against the pillow, eyes slipping shut once again. He'd had the most brilliant dream about Darius, not the same as the recurring ones from before, but held the same concept: he'd fucked Darius.

A bitter smile crept along his lips as his hand kneaded at his eye. He was _still _a sick fuck; Azkaban made sure to keep that implanted in him, unsurprisingly. But Darius felt so bloody _good _beneath his fingers and called his name so sweetly and hotly he was starting to fail to care. But it was just a dream. Just a dream . . .

As his mind cleared from the fuzziness of sleep and the throbbing, he took notice that the pillow was perhaps too soft and there too many coverings on the bed, and his side a bit too warm. He blinked and the ceiling was painted in an even, yet somewhat soiled coat of white which, to his distress, was present in only one room in the entire house. His chest tightened eliciting a sharp pain there as he cautiously twisted his neck to the right.

And sure enough, he was greeted with the slumbering face of his baby cousin, softened and lighthearted, mouth fairly slack, expelling light snores. Occasionally he would wet his lips, his tongue peeking out before he returned to snoring in peaceful sleep. Sirius was crossed between horror, disgust, and awe as he watched him sleep, curled in a fetal position. He had to be dreaming, had to be . . .

He swallowed thickly and timidly reached his hand towards his face. Once his fingertips touched that feather-soft flesh, he pressed lightly into it, just to make sure his fingers wouldn't sink in and induce Darius' body to dissipate into the air like a gas. It didn't, though, and instead roused the sleeping younger. His eyes fluttered open, a soft grey, hazy with sleep, and Sirius' breath hitched as they contemplated him with difficulty.

"Hey—" Sirius started after a while, unsure of what else to say.

To his dismay, Darius' face hardened just as it was the day he'd arrived, his eyebrows creasing and his eyes visibly sharpening. "Sirius," he said just as hard though it was no more than a whisper. He turned his head and silently began to rise, Sirius' hand sliding off easily for Sirius was too much in shock to move at all, his eyes wide and bright. "Do you know what time it is?" This was followed by silence and Darius glanced over his shoulder still bearing that indifferent expression. "I'll take that as a 'no' then."

He made to get up from the bed, the crisp white sheets slipping from his body, exposing that beautifully slim body to Sirius' sober mind, but Sirius lunged at his arm desperately, pulling him back down to the mattress. "Wait," he breathed hoarsely, the sudden physical movement making him pant, "Wait. Did what happened last night really happen?"

Darius frowned slightly. "Yes," he finally answered.

"And, and you let me, right? Do those things to you."

Darius nodded.

Sirius licked his lips and leaned in close. "But you didn't come, did you?"

"I have to go to work—"

"_Did you_?" Sirius said a bit more forcefully, tugging Darius down.

Darius hesitated from answering, his mind muddled from the distressful tone in Sirius' voice as though he were ashamed of himself for not making sure he got off. Sirius couldn't really care, could he? "No," he admitted finally, nerved by the way his cousin stared at him.

Sirius swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing to Darius' fascination, and his thin hand crept to the back of his head, cupping it and pulling him down for a chaste kiss. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his other hand slithering down Darius' side to his hip as he kneeled on the bed, "Let me fix that." He stole another kiss, much deeper and passionate this time, their tongues fighting against each other, randy like their were teenagers, and Darius couldn't believe he was giving in to his cousin who wrapped a hand around his growing erection.

"Sirius—Sirius, we shouldn't—work—late—fired—_Lucius_—"

"Bullshit '_Lucius_'," Sirius growled, mimicking Lucius' name, nipping at his clavicle and stroked firmer albeit clumsier, "He doesn't control you life." He drew Darius closer, licking sloppily on the bruises that he'd decorated his neck with the night before, kissing them lightly. Darius clung to the Animagus' chest, sighs and gasps escaping his lips despite himself, and he just felt so _angry _that he'd surrendered without the slightest fight and allowed Sirius to have his way with him once again, but just the fact that Sirius had dropped his pride to for him softened Darius' own. Perhaps Azkaban was a good thing . . .

"B-but he controls whether I get paid or not and I'm not rich and we should really stop. _Really_." His sentences were blending as he neared completion, breathing hotly in the crook of Sirius' neck, appreciating Sirius' hand moving from his hair and moving to splay on the centre of his back, drawing him closer.

And Sirius felt as if he were going to die having his cousin, little Darius, in his arms willingly, groaning and writhing for him, big bad Sirius. He sighed and inhaled the slight nutty and sweaty scent of his dark hair. He loved having him like this, loved seeing that face melted in bliss, loved the way his body twisted and tightened and jerked, and—and—

Darius gave a sharp hiss as he came, his joints taut and twitching, and Sirius held him tighter, crushing him to his chest, his pace slowing, milking him. Darius' head lolled to Sirius' shoulder as his breathing steadied, but he refused to acknowledge the gaze that burned his skin.

He refused to acknowledge that it was _Sirius_.

---

Where the _hell _is he?

_Sirius crept down the corridors of Grimmauld Place in search of Uldaricus after having awoken to an empty bed before him. He really just wanted to head straight to his room and go back to sleep, but he knew Luciana would be on his case about it once he awoke if she ever found Uldaricus without Sirius with him. That slap from earlier was only a taste of what was to come if he disobeyed any of her orders on this particular morning before dawn. He shuddered; the cane was the last thing he needed._

_He searched all he could, carefully avoiding going anywhere near the library, until he came to hear the stifled and choked sound of a weeping child emitting from, unsurprisingly, Regulus' bedroom. Sirius slowly opened the door a crack and peered in to find Uldaricus bawling into Regulus' pillow, gripping it as if his life depended on it. He was simply pathetic, this boy, and Sirius was crossed between disgust and pity. Just how much did Uldaricus love Regulus?_

"_What are you doing here?" he hissed, shutting the door behind him. Uldaricus flinched and looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, turning his head up from the pillow his face was previously buried in. "Do you have any idea how much shit I can get in with you running off like that?" Uldaricus sniffled and tears streamed from his eyes anew._

"_I-I'm sorry," he whimpered, clutching the pillow tighter. Sirius didn't respond, instead watching him with hard eyes. Inside however his Gryffindor side was forcing him to crumble like sugar at the frightened and tormented face of the boy before him. Really, he was such an _arse _to make a nine-year-old cry like that. He swallowed thickly. "I can't sleep," the younger continued._

"_And why not?" he demanded, harshly, though it was obvious why he couldn't._

"_Regulus," Uldaricus mumbled._

"_And what will make you go to sleep?"_

"_Regulus." Ouch. Okay._

_Sirius sighed, scratching his head before hesitantly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Uldaricus silenced and sniffled when a hand ruffled his hair. He looked up at Sirius with those full, innocent eyes, and Sirius found that he was the one who couldn't match the other's gaze. "Look, Ulrike, if you hadn't noticed, Regulus isn't here at the moment. What else will help you sleep?"_

_Uldaricus shrugged slightly, his eyes full of awe at the kindness Sirius was showing him, his hand stroking his forehead gently. He was rather sweet once Sirius pushed away his hatred of him, so sweet like Regulus was. And there was only one thing that Sirius could do to get Regulus to sleep when he was Ulrike's age, or at least the age of which Uldaricus acted._

"_C'mere," he muttered, hoisting his legs on the bed and pulled Uldaricus upon his lap, awkwardly encircling his arms around in an embarrassing embrace. The younger snuggled closer to him, bringing his knees up against Sirius' thighs, looking utterly _endearing _as he became more and more comfortable with his company. It seemed so very strange to Sirius that this little boy was going to admitted into Hogwarts in a mere two years or so._

"_You want to hear a story?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

_Sirius found himself reciting The Ugly Duckling without realising it, avoiding Uldaricus' gaze as he spoke. The child felt so warm in his lap against the cold of winter, and he ended up petting him like a kitten, lifting his knees so that his baby cousin slid closer to him._

"_I like that story," Uldaricus said once he had concluded the story._

"_Yeah?" Sirius yawned._

_Uldaricus nodded, echoing his yawn cutely. "It like me. The duckling."_

_There was a pause, then, "You're not an ugly duckling, Ulrike," Sirius mumbled drowsily, wrapping Ulrike a bit closer, his head slipping to the side and his eyes fluttering shut as he slipped into a dreamless sleep._

---

He ached all over, from his pounding head to his sore feet, littered with bruises from overly eager kisses and thin lines from where Sirius' jagged, bitten nails sliced at him. Once he glanced at himself while taking the sparkling dishes from the cupboard to dish out breakfast for both he and his cousin, he wasn't quite sure if he was fucked or beaten. He ghosted his hand over his cheek and sure enough it was his face, not some illusion or trick. He inwardly groaned for Lucius would be seeing these small inflictions soon enough, and what the man would say . . .

"I'm sorry."

Darius glanced over his shoulder at his cousin who sat at the kitchen table looking rather sullen and guilty much to Darius' surprise. They'd barely spoken as they awkwardly dressed and went their separate ways, Darius for a shower and Sirius, oddly, to finish unpacking the food from the night before. Darius met him there in the kitchen when he had just finished with the last paper bag, and silently began making breakfast for them both, and Sirius said nothing to this to Darius' relief. "Sorry for what?" Darius responded slowly, looking away and scraping the remaining eggs that stuck to the pan into his plate, "I told you, I did this willingly."

"I mean . . . for everything."

"Everything . . . ?"

"I've done my fair share in fucking you up, haven't I? I shouldn't have blamed it all on Reg. If I wasn't such an arsehole what happened last night would have never happened at all, and you wouldn't be late for work." His thoughts were running together and it seemed that these words were thought over beforehand, but were having difficulty coming out right. There then was a sigh. "So, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

There was silence as Darius placed Sirius' plate before him, and then, "I'm not late for work." He placed his own plate down but made his way back towards the sink. He stiffened as hands cautiously encircled his mid-section and there was a chin in the crook of his neck, stiff facial hair on the sensitive flesh.

"But do you forgive me?" Sirius breathed, his arms tightening just a bit more, "Tell me you do."

Darius wanted to forgive, he sincerely did. And he really wanted to simply melt into those arms, holding him securely yet carefully, as if he were as fragile as glass or linen, able to shatter easily, be torn easily. He loved that touch, he realised, and his eyelids lowered ever so slightly, burning suddenly with the possibility of tears. But his pride stopped him from giving in; Auntie stopped him from giving in. Those hands brushed over his flat stomach, where there would soon be a child, his child, _their _child, but Sirius was to never know. He was to never spread the influences of James Potter unto the new heir of the Black family; he couldn't get too close to Sirius. Auntie wanted it that way.

"No," he mumbled, barely audible, placing his hands over those larger, rough ones, so cold, so icy _cold_, and softly pulling them away, "I'm sorry. I can't. I _can't_."

---

Remus tore away from the scene with a slightly shaky step his face pale save for the darkness around his eyes. He hadn't heard their words, but the way Sirius embraced Darius and then kissed him desperately . . . The Wolf was pleased, excited, _hungry_, and urged him forward through the door, but once Remus had realised its intentions he shut the door silently and pulled back, his heart thudding wildly, though he wasn't sure if it was for what he stopped the Wolf from doing or the horrid realisation.

Darius had already started his scheme.

And that was why he was outside his bedroom later that evening after Darius had returned from the Ministry, planning what he was going to say. He was going to reveal that he knew the truth to Darius before he would Sirius so that the younger would have a chance to redeem himself for Remus. If he was worth Remus' trust Darius would expose the truth to Sirius himself, but if he was not Remus was willing to do the exposing for him. He wasn't doing this intervention because he was a bad person, he kept repeating to himself, in hopes of convincing himself, but because Sirius was his 'brother'. He wouldn't allow anyone to hurt Sirius like this.

He finally mustered enough pride to move forward, but as he reached towards the doorknob, he managed to pick up a voice coming from behind the door. Curious, he slowly knelt down, flinching when he heard the crack of his knees as they bent, and pressed his ear to the old wood to hear what was being said.

---

"Darius—I _hate _this fire-call-whatever, and you _know _that. It just feels so damn _weird _talking to my fireplace."

The first voice—Darius—gave a sigh. "Yes, yes, I _know_. Trust me, I do. But-but I have favour to ask."

There was a silence until the other voice finally said, "Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"You know what I'm trying to do, and—"

"Uh huuuuh . . ."

"And, well, I don't think that Narcissa can take me in afterward, so—"

"Uh _huuuuh _. . ."

"_Octavius Yvon_! I need you to be serious about this!"

Remus paled at the name, his eyes widening. It couldn't possibly be—

No wonder the owl was so familiar. No wonder the handwriting was so familiar. No wonder that voice was so familiar.

Why didn't he realise it sooner? Had he really blocked out the memory?

* * *

**End Chapter 3

* * *

****A/N**: Reviews greatly appreciated. The next chapter is entirely Remus/Octavius-centric. 


	6. Octavius

Don't hurt meh! shields self

Anywho, new chapter and it's been . . . a year. I wholeheartedly apologise, but it's been a hectic year. I would like to thank **Leightning** for unconcously kicking my ass into shape! Xie xie! -- (Guess who has Chinese classes! XD) No Sirius or Darius in this chapter, sorry. But, there is pr0n. I do hope that makes up for it! :3

**Of Truths**

Chapter 6: Octavius

* * *

"I see you every day, Professor," Flint said casually. "I see those looks you give him, all that special treatment."

Remus was scandalized, _revolted_, at this and he was sure his face expressed it for that damned simper tugged back further, now resembling a sneer. He was sure he treated Rossi no different from how he treated his other pupils; he didn't know the boy enough not to. All right, so possibly he had let a few missed assignments slide for the boy once every blue. He was a pleasant student and was attentive and sweet. He deserved a bit of first-class treatment from time to time. That certainly didn't mean that he _lusted _for him, though.

"I believe that it is only a few minutes to curfew; you should leave," he replied evenly, resuming his seat and returning to the papers he was previously grading. Flint's right shoulder was still in his line of view, however.

He then felt the heat and smelt the sourness of Flint's breath. He sat erect as the other inclined forward and whispered dangerously close to his ear: "He's really good from what I hear. He'll do just about anything you could possibly want." Remus inhaled sharply through his nose. Flint's hand rose to his shoulder as he moved closer, his lips scratchy against his earlobe. "So what are you waiting for? He's young, he's willing – _take him_."

Remus imagined Rossi then: bent over his desk, slim hips raised into the air, the pale cheeks of his arse flushed red. He was looking back at him over his shoulder, his lank hair plastered to his cheek by perspiration. "_Come get me_," he said. Remus swallowed thickly, heat flooding his face as he tried to uphold his rationality – he's your student, he's underage, he's a _boy_.

"Get out," he commanded softly, his voice wavering slightly.

Flint looked as if he desired to speak farther on the subject, but alternatively settled for a chaste, "Aren't you supposed escort me?"

"_Get out_!" Remus bellowed, the two-syllable phrase ringing off the cavernous walls of the classroom.

Flint was unfazed, however, and left without another word, though he did bear a rather content smirk upon his face.

--

Remus looked at the man sitting across from and, no, he hadn't changed much from when he was his student. His hair was just a tad longer, but other than that naught was different about him, and that was not consoling the slightest, he decided. He hadn't anticipated meeting him ever again, even more in a shady pub like this. He'd stopped here for a simple drink after spending a week straight with Greyback's pack, when he waltzed in casually and spotted him in the crowd. He welcomed himself to Remus' table and Remus couldn't very well drive him away.

The awkwardness was instantaneous.

"What are you doing here?" Remus inquired after awhile, trusting that his words didn't come off as inhospitable as they had sounded to him. Octavius Rossi smiled mildly, sitting just a bit straighter in his seat; he didn't seem to recognise it the slightest, or had elected to politely dismiss it, for which Remus was grateful.

"I'm expecting someone; we were set to meet here about this time—" He broke into a morose sigh and took a sip of his hard drink. "—but, as always, he's fashionably late." Octavius shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in disbelief.

Remus shifted a bit, these words leaving his lips before he realised they were even there: "Is he another one of your '_conquests_'?" The spite was heavy in his words and he cut the sentence short; he wished to say more, he truly did, but he wouldn't allow anything more to slip. He was above revenge. He'd lost many to it; from their illustration he'd learned young to never sink that low, especially for something as meaningless as this.

Octavius perked up for a moment, his eyes grinning rascally, presenting his true self for the first time that night. "This," he said, eyebrow twitching, "This is going to be interesting, isn't it?"

Remus inexplicably shuddered.

--

"_Class dismissed_."

_There was a chorus of shuffling parchment and the scuffling of shoe soles and chair legs across the stone floor as the seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs rose from their seats, collecting their belongings to depart. They queued at the door as they were now instructed to do with the Sirius Black scare, and he stood behind them, observant. What Flint had said was behind him, as well as the entire situation with Rossi. With Sirius_' _ripe attack on the Fat Lady_ -- _poor girl _-- _he had much more important things on his mind than some teenager_'_s cruel little joke. Yet, as his fate was, it was no one other than Rossi who had decided to walk up to him at that moment._

"_Professor Lupin_?"

_Remus flinched slightly_; _he recognised the voice at once_. _But he smiled politely at the boy beside him_. "_Yes_, _Mr. Rossi_?" _Flint_'_s words raided his mind without delay_: "_He's young, he's willing _-- take him," _he'd said. Rossi looked so brilliant and promising and though he wasn't that much of a looker he still held this air of such a good-natured and casual personality that one could eventually look past that. Eventually_. "_All's well, I hope_?"

_Rossi nodded with a bright smile, his teeth not beautifully aligned, but not too far off. He swept a lock of his hair behind his ear and asked coyly_, "_Professor_, _I had a query on the kappas, a . . . theory rather. I was wondering if I could perhaps discourse it with you after class_?"_ Remus stared at him for a moment, eyes raking the boy_—Is he proposing what I_ think _he's proposing . . .— _and he knitted his eyebrows at what he saw_.

"_We could always discuss it during class tomorrow, Octavius_," _he offered, but the student shook his head_.

"_No, sir_," _he said, smiling bashfully_, "_My thoughts, you see, are a bit obscure and lengthy, I admit. I would rather pass it through you first than squander precious class time. I _sincerely _like your class, Professor_," _he contributed_.

_Remus opened his mouth but, unable to think of a decent excuse without wounding his feelings, closed it and nodded in vanquish with a sigh_. "_Sure_," _he said tiredly_, "_Let me just escort them to their dorms and then we can talk, all right_?"

_Octavius beamed and nodded._

--

_How Octavius perched himself on the arm of the chair Remus was sitting in without said lycanthrope noticing was beyond him._

_Remus didn't mind it very much, seeing that a mere twenty minutes earlier this boy was practically pressing himself against the wall of his office, so fidgety he attempted to be as far away from his teacher as possible in the small room. To finally see the boy at ease in his presence was consoling to Remus. Remus should have realised that things would be going wrong too fast once the topic of kappa mating rituals arose from the boy's mouth, but he disregarded it as mere wonder; his_ _past conversation with Flint nonexistent for the moment and then Rossi was nothing more than a inquisitive student._

_"But is it possible for a kappa to mate with a human?" Octavius asked, eyes bright, his erect stance from once they'd first sat replaced by his slouching. "I mean, even though they are, well,_ demons_, is it possible that the offspring would be able to insinuate itself with humans?"_

_Remus laughed gently to himself, his cheek in his hand; Octavius looked just a bit offended. "It_ is_ possible," he assured him, "But, really, I doubt one would necessarily want to mate with a kappa. You have to admit, Octavius, they aren't the most alluring choice in a mate." Octavius laughed loudly and Remus snickered._

_"You're_ awful_!"_

_"You have to admit they're hideous, Octavius," he added, "Especially if the one choosing is human." He fell into another bout of snickers, but Octavius' dwindled as he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Remus glanced up at him and froze._

_The boy leaned in suddenly, dark eyes half-lidded, and Remus' heart began to drum faster until it was a galloping racehorse. The Wolf became interested in mere seconds, clawing and sniffing its way to Remus' resolve, and though it hadn't gotten to his rationality just yet, his body was glistening with cold sweat, trembling just the slightest. And soon Octavius had become the most handsome thing in his life with his fair, black eyes, his dark hair curved behind his ears. Those lips, a deep pink which was a drastic change from his almost pasty skin, curved into a very subtle smirk._

_Remus kept his jaw tight, trying to intimidate the boy and knock _some _kind of sense into him, but Rossi's hand slid up the length of the head of the armchair until it paused just past Remus' neck and he was all the more closer. Remus swallowed and glanced up at the boy who hovered over him, his head lowered so that if Remus chose to raise his chin just the slightest, their lips would touch which was surely not the appropriate conduct of a Hogwarts teacher. His jaw lowered just a bit in preparation of demanding what in the hell was he doing, but the words simply would not come forth and he appeared as though he were goggling. _

_Rossi's smirk twisted more and he leaned down further until his nose brushed so very lightly against his teacher's that the touch was nearly nonexistent. Remus exhaled slowly despite himself but he couldn't tear his widened eyes away. "Professor," he said, his voice dropping in pitch in volume. "What if I told you that—" There was a pause as Rossi rearranged his legs until the heels of his shoes insinuated themselves in the crevice in between Remus' left thigh and the chair's arm that was opposite from the one he sat on. The fact that the boy was dirtying his armchair with his shoes briefly fluttered through Remus' mind._

_Remus swallowed as Rossi got all the more closer to sitting in his lap. "If--If you told me what, Mr. Rossi?" He already knew. The heat and arousal pulsed off the boy's skin in such quantity and with such potency that he could pick it up with his own human senses. Desire pooled at his groin and he could feel himself unwillingly harden at the careful and indiscreet actions. This was the Wolf's desire he reminded himself; his sanity, still intact, helped to define between the two._

_The other, however, did not respond, his attentions averted to the slowly shaping bulge against the underside of his shin. He glanced up at his teacher who blushed a muted pink, his mouth opening ever the slightest as he whispered, "What if I told you that I really desired you?" He pulled a knee back and kneaded the tent in Remus' frayed robes with the metal heel of his school shoes. Remus gave a razor-sharp intake of breath, his hand instinctively shoving it away and shielding his erection, his eyes snarling at the younger, glittering madly. Rossi smirked, leaned in just a bit more, and imparted in an even lower tone than before, "Apparently you desire me as well."_

_Remus couldn't voice his denial as his lips were sealed with the boy's who'd crossed the remaining centimetres between them. Rossi's tongue slithered its way through his lips, but his victory was short-lived after encountering two rows of solidly clenched teeth. He pulled back, disappointed, and Remus pressed his lips together. "I think you should leave," he gritted, forcing Rossi's legs away. The boy only smiled, however, and slid into his lap and straddled his teacher with serpentine grace. Remus gasped at the weight added to his weeping erection, and even more at the erection that pressed into his abdomen as Rossi steadied himself, his hands on his shoulders. "Rossi . . ."_

_Rossi chuckled, his eyes drunken with arousal and power, and he pressed a finger to his lips, whispering against his ear, "Shh. Just relax, Professor." He rocked his arse against Remus' groin and the elder bit off his groan a little too late. This was wrong, but so _delightfully _wrong. He wanted it to end and for Rossi to just go away yet didn't want him to leave, wanted to fuck the boy's arse _raw_. As his arousal heightened, as his sense of self dwindled, he became more serious to push the other away, calloused hands clutching those thin forearms tightly._

_"Rossi—Octavius," he urged, "Please, don't do—" His breaths were coming out in sharp puffs as those spidery fingers unclasped his patched robes and shoved them open to his pale chest. He damned himself; he was _permitting _this to happen. There was a dark, thin scar amidst smaller ones that started at his bellybutton, veered upward diagonally, then disappeared in the shadows his robes made at his side. A finger traced it gently, tentatively, and Remus' eyes followed it, 'stop's and 'don't's replaced by silence. Octavius paused suddenly. Remus glanced up at him and found the other eying the scar carefully before Octavius' fingers left his chest altogether and thumbed the clasp of his own robes._

_"You are so scarred," he murmured, toying with the button on his robes between his thumb and forefinger. Remus' breath hitched as the clasp was undone, allowing him to see the white, unmarred, yet thin abdomen beneath, and blamed the fact that he wanted to touch him so badly, hands twitching, entirely on the Wolf whose yellow eyes gazed at the boy hungrily through Remus'. _I'm letting it do this_, he ranted, _I'm. letting. it. do. this._ To one of his students no less. Octavius leaned in and Remus panicked (_Stop, stop, stop_!) and he whispered in his ear, breath hot and herb-scented and lips scratchy and chapped against the shell of his ear, "That is so hot. You make me so _hard_, Professor."_

_God, he was talking dirty, that adolescent, artless kind of dirty. That bold, stating-the-obvious kind of dirty. That was—That was—That was so inexplicably _naughty_, especially for a man his age. It reminded him of all the school months of shagging his long-term girlfriend in broom closets and summers of fucking his neighbour's son or his brother in the woods behind their childhood home. His cock pulsed and he swallowed again. "Does—Does it?" he stammered finally, his voice a bit higher than usual. Octavius nodded, a devious grin catching his lips. "Yeah," he murmured, "Oh hell yeah."_

To hell with this_, Remus thought, though it sounded more like the Wolf than himself. And soon his, 'He's a student, he's underage, he's a boy,' turned to 'He's here, he's in his underwear, what the hell.' He swallowed his pride and said quietly, "You-You make me hard, too, Octavius." His rationality protested against this insanity, but he ignored it, thrusting his hips up, demonstrating him just how hard he made him. Octavius murmured a small, "Mmm," and encircled his arms around his teacher's neck, drawing him into another kiss._

--

_"Mm, the guys never do things like this to me," Octavius sighed, pushing his arse back just a bit more. He wriggled it just a bit, looking back at Remus with sated eyes. "But then they don't fuck as hard as you do, Professor," he breathed, his hand clawing for the roll of condoms he'd had concealed in his sock earlier. _

_Remus realised, after shagging the boy in half in his lap, that that wasn't just for the affair. No, from the way Octavius rocked against his thrusts and moaned filthy encouragements through scarlet lips, that had to be an everyday habit, stuffing those condoms in his socks. He was prepared to fuck anytime and anywhere; that realisation rekindled his erection mere minutes after his release and seconds before Octavius pulled him to the floor for another bout._

_Remus flicked his tongue at the gorgeous pink pucker that twitched in expectancy, pulling a groan from his throat. "Never?" he asked breathlessly, lightly snipping at the tender flesh of the buttock he laid his cheek against. His tongue tingled with the consistent taste of his bitter seed and the sweetness of youth. He cupped the mound, licking at the flesh sloppily. _

_Octavius moaned like a wanton _slut_. "No. Never." He reached back for him and clutched his hair. "Now, go on."_

_He chuckled and pressed his face in again, his tongue finally breaching the ring of muscle, his hand slipping in between his legs and toying with his sac. He really didn't need to do this; he was nice and stretched for him from their tryst not long ago, but he—the Wolf—loved the writhing and the needy moans and sighs the boy gave. Octavius gasped and groaned, his head hitting the stone floor, rasping softly, "That is so _disgusting_!" and Remus laughed again. He continued at a faster pace, thrusting his tongue in and out of the puckered hole, watching the boy's erection bob with each grind of Octavius' hips against his face._

_"Oh, Salazar," Octavius breathed, "God that feels good."_

_The boy's thin fingers fisted himself tightly, and with a few jerking strokes he was coming in hard bursts with a sigh, his back arching slightly. Remus pulled back onto his haunches, savouring the moist sound of Octavius milking himself of the remainder of his orgasm before slumping forward onto his folded arms, his arse raised high in the air. Remus' cock twitched within the confines of his underwear and he kneaded it with the ball of his hand, wiping the trail of saliva that tickled him as it trickled down his chin with the back of the other._

_Take him, the Wolf urged, Take him again._

_Remus eyed the roll of condoms that laid forgotten by Octavius' splayed hand._

_He wants it again, boy. Give him what he wants._

_Octavius gave a long sigh, falling to his side, the arm of the shoulder he lay on covering his face. But not his eyes. They burned in his direction, his lips curling slightly._

_Why are you hesitating? the Wolf growled, You didn't hesitate earlier._

_I did in fact hesitate, Remus wanted to remind him. And he wasn't in the right mind when he first shagged him. That almost painful arousal and hunger he had for the younger earlier seemed to vanish suddenly, like he'd just woken from a trance. There was something very wrong here . . ._

_"Professor, I can help you with that if you like," Octavius piped up suddenly, nodding to the bulge in his underwear. Remus frowned as the boy crept toward him, his hips swaying with extreme exaggeration. At the sight of his face, heat began to pool in his groin and the lust returned tenfold, striking him head on. Octavius pressed up against him and nipped at his throat, fingering the other's erection, and Remus groaned, his mind melting into the sensation._

_Octavius laughed suddenly, tracing the waistband of the underwear. "We were so randy you didn't take this off, did you? You just shoved it down." He laughed again and pulled the clothing down._

_Then that heat engulfed Remus, swallowing him, sucking him greedily, tongue licking skillfully. Remus gasped; he pulled out, then pushed back in, out, in, out, in. His lazy pace increased, his hands clutching the lank hair as he neared his release with every thrust in— _

_There was a click and a flash of light._

_Remus didn't have time to react, his orgasm hitting him full force, filling that mouth with his seed, head thrown back. Once he lowered from his high, however, his mind cleared and he became aware of the odd occurrence that had happened mid-orgasm. He stiffly looked up in the sound's direction._

_"Dear Merlin, no."_

_Flint laughed sharply, fingers fiddling around the Wizard camera. No, no this couldn't be happening. He was dreaming surely? No human could be so cruel as to pull something like this. "Told you Rossi was up for anything," Flint stated, flashing crooked teeth. He nodded to said man. "Come here you little slut." Remus glanced at Octavius, eyes wide, and he could have sworn he'd died at that moment in that spot._

_Octavius was grinning deviously from ear to ear, his thumb brushing come from his cheek and dipping it into his mouth. He licked his lips obscenely and those _eyes_; they glinted at him, a reflection of nonexistent flames against the black irises. Remus' body trembled as Rossi slid gracefully up from the floor, sauntering over to his apparent lover still completely nude. He leaned up against his man, splaying his hand on his chest, and Flint smirked, a possessive hand skittering down his spine to the curve of his buttocks, squeezing it lecherously._

_And somehow, beneath the sudden surge of anger and hatred and shame, Remus felt just a wee bit envious._

--

"Hate _me_? What reason do you have to hate _me_?" Remus demanded, his tone wavering from its calm state, a result from the line of drinks they'd had. "You got what you wanted, didn't you? You got to shag the rookie teacher, took your little pictures, and then got fucked by Flint. What, did you want _more_? Did you wish for me to _pay _for your services?"

Octavius gave a bitter smile, his eyebrows knitting together. He couldn't stop the light laugh that left his lips. "You're wrong, Lupin. You ruined it all for me." He slumped in his seat and shook his head slightly in disbelief, his lank hair swaying. "Everything seemed perfect, y'know? I mean, right after we left your office he shagged me right next to the door. I was positively _ecstatic_. His cock," he added airily, "was twice as thick as that pathetic one I had earlier." Remus gave him a bitter smirk and Octavius flashed it twofold.

"But then, after a week or so, I couldn't stop looking in your direction." Octavius laughed at the raised eyebrow that was sent his way. "Don't get full of yourself now, Lupin. You just looked so sad one couldn't help but to look. It was even worse when Marc shared the pictures. Those birds didn't flock around you for extra help, you know. They just wanted a hit of the teacher who was so eager to shag ugly old' Rossi." He shrugged.

"So, how is this my fault?" asked Remus, though, really, he already knew. He knew Flint enough to know his actions.

Octavius sighed and stared longingly at the door. "Marcus thought I felt _guilty _for what we did to your sorry arse. And more, he thought I favoured your cock to his gorgeous piece of art." He turned back to Remus, taking a long drag from his fag. "Ate me out the Tuesday a week after. Called me a good-for-nothing slut. I got to thinking, y'know, if he was shagging a slut like me, I must be worth a bit of something." He took another drag and ground it in the astray. "I anticipated worse, so it was all right."

He spoke so nonchalantly about it; had Remus been in his place he would've been torn.

"But how is _that _my fault?"

"You looked so fucking pathetic, I couldn't turn myself away!" Octavius said, turning his head to him aggressively, his voice a great contrast from his laid back tone from when last he spoke. "You should have been a man and went on with life! No one needs to know how you feel; you should've hid it. How do you think I faced Flint after he just dumped me like that? Think I cried? Think I begged? No! I faced him head-on like a true man and took it. I wanted to cry so hard, Lupin. I truly wanted to get down on my knees and _beg_." His voice became hoarse and he turned his head slightly, subtly. "But I didn't."

Remus eyed him carefully, taking another swig from his bottle. It wasn't as strong as Firewhiskey and he truly wished it was. Octavius splayed his hand over his face; tears were clearly apparent brimming his eyes, gleaming in the dim light in the pub.

"Would apologizing be of any help?" Remus asked after a while, but Octavius said sharply, "Piss off."

Octavius sloppily wiped his eyes with his wrist and Remus felt . . . nothing. Nothing at all. No sympathy of the slightest. He was alarmed; he felt absolutely nothing for the boy. Nothing -- nothing but hatred. He didn't differ from Tonks that very much, not in personality, but Remus had never felt this . . . this deep, pulsating _hate_. He loved Tonks, loved her every way possible, but then, he had felt the same for many others. And, though he truly hated to acknowledge it, he even sympathised with Wormtail, the man, his friend, who betrayed Lily and James so swiftly to save his own tail. He could sympathise and empathise with all, though it was mainly involuntarily.

But Octavius was another story. He could only feel sheer loathing for him, and that, as awful as it sounded, was refreshing.

Arousing.

"I hate you," his former student said coldly, shaking his head, his lips pulled back in a sneer. "I hate you so much, Lupin." He finally managed to face the other man and attempted to take a sip from his glass, but it turned out to be empty. He placed it down in distaste.

Remus smiled and poured the rest of his bottle into Octavius' glass. Octavius looked up at him in question, but Remus captured his lips before he could expel a sound of any sort. The younger went rigid yet once he finally chose to react, opening his mouth slightly, Remus pulled away, a grin on his lips. He slammed the cost of his and the younger's drinks down onto the table as he stood. "The feeling is mutual, trust me," he responded, walking past him to the exit. With every step he could feel those dark eyes follow him, even as the door swung shut.

--

Once Lupin disappeared, Octavius stared at the liquor the elder had poured into his glass. They clearly hated one another, unbelievably, but then what was it that he was feeling? He licked his lips, light traces of liquor still upon them from Lupin' kiss. What did this mean, this quick beating of his heart, this aroused pulsing in the curve of his thighs? His eyes snapped back and forth from his glass to the exit repeatedly; a part of him wanted to go after him whilst the other felt that he should stay put.

"The feeling is mutual," he had said. He got a strange, fluttering feeling in his chest at the words.

He looked around the bar, and then to the table. He spotted the notes Lupin had put down thoughtfully and . . . wait. Octavius recounted once more and calculated the cost of their drinks. He'd paid for both of their drinks, including the one he held in his in his fist. Was it possible that, maybe, this was a _proposition_? He glanced up at the exit for a second and . . . could it . . . yes, Merlin, it _was_! He could see the arm of Lupin's worn, frayed leather jacket just where the window ended.

Lupin was _waiting _for him.

Octavius never thought he could move so fast.

--

Remus grinned at the man who panted before him, eyes bright and jacket clutched in his hand. He pushed off the wall and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Octavius launched himself at him, smothering his lips with his own. And Remus kissed him back, his hands reaching out for the thinner body and drawing it against him, his hand cupping the back of Octavius' neck and kissing him brutishly, the hardest he'd never thought he'd achieve. He, however, did not anticipate the hands groping the buttons of his trousers.

"What are you doing?" he whispered loudly, though, really, the erection encased behind the placket of buttons didn't mind doing this out in the open and throbbed. Octavius glanced around before pulling Remus into the alley beside them by the collar of his jacket, shoving him against the wall with another kiss. "This better?" he rasped against his lips, not waiting for the nod before he sank to his knees and tore at the trousers once again.

Octavius nuzzled Remus' underwear, hot breath making the prick beneath twitch in anticipation. Remus hissed when the younger's tongue darted out and dragged along the blue-cotton outline of his erection and clutched the tendrils of dark hair. "Do it," he urged, rubbing himself against those lips desperately. "_Do it_." Dark eyes slid up to him, half-lidded, followed by a satisfied smirk, before fingers pulled down the pants. He swallowed the prick whole, to the sodding _hilt_, his nose squashed into the coarse, brown hair.

Remus moaned, his eyes closing, and it was just so nasty, getting his pecker sucked in an alley just beside a pub and even more by one of his former students. The sheer _sinfulness _of it was scrumptious, and god, though he scorned this boy horribly he'd missed this mouth. Octavius made a show of it, too, clenching his hips firmly, moaning lecherously around the prick in his mouth with brilliant overstatement, and his hand was shoved down his own trousers. It didn't take long before Remus was stabbing into that wet heat, grunts and groans freely stumbling from his lips and he was -- _ohgodfuckyes_ -- coming, exploding in hot bursts, arching his spine just a bit off the wall. His growl resounded about the alleyway for a moment before escaping into the distance.

It wasn't until the little tremors ceased and his breathing calmed that he spread open his eyes again, only to be greeted by the flushed and debauched face of Octavius Rossi, swallowing his seed easily, his cock, peeking out from his opened grey trousers, flaccid and wet, liquid on his left hand glistening in the streetlight. With shaky hands, Remus hastily tucked himself back in, buttoned the placket, and Octavius stood and did the same, sighing in content. When they kissed, it was bitter but made more pleasant by the languid fondling of their tongues, Remus accepting the other in his arms again. Octavius cut it short, however, and pulled back with a grin.

--

It was easy for Octavius to recall how demanding Marcus could get at times. Though their 'relationship' survived no longer than a few weeks, the sex was practically nonstop, from early morning grinding in Octavius' dormitory to five minute head in-between classes in the loo to evening shags before and after the final meal of the day in the old Transfiguration classroom. Brief though their relationship, Octavius was bent over enough times for him to imagine that had been months instead of weeks.

He could simply close his eyes at times (just after silencing his alarm clock, during work behind the secretary desk, while Malfoy clutches his thigh and pulls his legs apart, just when Daniel glides his hands down his hips, in the bath, in bed) and think of that blissful time, of all the times Marcus shoved him against the bookshelves in the library or forced him to his knees in the showers or kissed with that dangerously sharp tongue of his after Quidditch matches and practices. That was how he was in school: desperate, passionate, aching for Marcus to bite him _right there _again.

But then Marcus tripped him and pounded his face in the dirt with the heel of the boot that Octavius used to love to feel pressing into the small of his back. But, in truth, for once in his brutish life, Marcus didn't use his wand or his fists to get his message through. He had used words, sharp though he was quite dull, booming though stuttered and inarticulate from envy and anger.

Though the lack of wounds was a relief, in the end Octavius would have felt much better if Marcus had beat him in the dust; he'd have a reason to allow the tears the burned his eyes to fall. But he didn't, so no tears were shed. Crying would have slaughtered a record he'd held for quite some time, anyway: no tears for years. Just bright smiles and invitations of liquor and sex. That was how he settled things, even at the age of fifteen. It was simple and quick and always worked in the end.

So, Octavius moved on.

And found himself in Lucius Malfoy's bed a mere two weeks after he left Hogwarts. Well, not his _bed_, per se, but more of his dining room table, after a five-sodding-courses with really good wine. During sex Lucius was rough yet still calculating, muttering things in-between thrusts that Octavius (a fork digging into his back, a glorious piece of chocolate lace cake mushed against his neck, robes bunched up and his legs wound around Lucius' waist, left hand limp beside him, drenched and sticky with red wine, a wineglass shard lodged in the palm) wondered if he even realised what he was saying. But it felt so _good_, and he was still high from the wine, moaning, lips moving but nothing that even resembled the English language. He had passed out seconds after coming, and when he awoke, drowsy and clean, a bouncy house elf looking up at him with watery eyes and a note in its hand, he had a job.

Where he met Daniel. Octavius had already settled into his job of three months when the man sauntered up to the desk with the smug grin that Octavius had learned to hate, though at that time had flushed slightly from. He'd recognised him from a Wizard tabloid the girls often bought (which he skimmed); being the husband of one of the most powerful witches in Britain got him plenty of publicity. He leaned over the desk and told him that he was there to meet Lucius and Octavius had stammered that he was currently at a meeting. Daniel blinked, whispered, "Pity," and turned on his heel. At his retreating form, Octavius bit the nail of his thumb, a grin splitting his lips. The man was so much sexier alone than he was with his wife or rocking a child. He went on break an hour or so later, and ended up pushed against the cold metal of a stall, the only thing he could see a cocoa-coloured hand steadying its owner as he thrust into Octavius.

Daniel became a nuisance soon enough. He'd walk into the office without a single reason, just to slide up against Octavius, cup his arse while he spoke with guests, follow him into the loo, pull him into empty rooms. And the entire time he would grin and call him 'love' and 'angel face' and 'sweetie'.

Daniel would pat his head while Octavius had his cock in his mouth, say, "Good boy," and demeaning things like that. He'd tell him how perfect they'd be together (in comparison, Daniel would look even better with Octavius by his side), but there was the fact that Daniel was married, and even more married with children. Lucky for Octavius, anyway, since the last thing Octavius would want to be is married to a skirt chaser like Daniel, or married at all for that matter. But Octavius always allowed Daniel into his bed for he paid handsomely, and, because, in all verity, sex with Lucius was becoming rather _boring_.

These were the only men whose sex helped mould Octavius into the person he was. They were attractive and addicting in their own way.

Yet here he was, legs straining as he poised himself over Remus-bloody-Lupin's (prematurely greying, darkness beneath his blue eyes, a goddamned _werewolf_) prick, his left hand trying to steady him as best as it could, clawing at the sheets over Lupin's shoulder, whilst the other held Lupin's cock steady in his fist. And Lupin was inexplicably trembling with desire, his hands gentle but still rough-skinned as they skimmed uncertainly down his sides before settling on his hips. He licked his lips slowly as he looked up at Octavius, and Octavius had to admit that he was rather . . . rather _handsome _like that.

A wicked smile tugged at his lips as he whispered in anxious puffs of breath, "Nervous, Lupin?"

Lupin only offered that insufferable smile of his, and Octavius rode, angry and fierce, but his only satisfaction is the fact that when he came – _Before Lupin_, he thought with dread – he made little sound. He could not, however, stop himself from passing out with content on the man's chest.

* * *

End Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews inspire me to continue on! . . . Now excuse while I watch Kill Bill (Weasley) for the ninteenth time! . . . Er, I mean, work on Chapter 7 . . . heh.


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